enough of their security to know they could take her in at any time. She obviously, then,

was being used as bait to trap any other SOTE agents in the neighborhood like himself

and Yvette. The d'Alemberts dared not approach her until they had made sufficient

arrangements to protect their own covers.

At the same time, now that he'd finally spotted her he couldn't let her get away until he

knew where she could be reached; he couldn't count on finding her accidentally again.

Making sure to appear casual himself and ascertaining that there was no one following

him he set off after Helena and her two tails.

The surreptitious parade wandered through the shopping area, with Helena stopping at

two more stores for small items. Then she pressed a button on the comer call post and

waited for a cart to come by. Jules went to a different corner and summoned a cart of

his own. The two shadows, he noted, did the same thing. The carts were passenger

driven; as long as he kept dropping coins in, there was no limit to how far he could go.

Consequently, he didn't worry about his quarry getting away. At fifteen kilometers an

hour, she couldn't go too far too fast.

He followed her to an apartment, where she entered and closed the door. Her two other

followers took up what looked to be, to them, familiar positions from which they could

watch the doorway. This, then, must be Helena's apartment and, like Jules's own, it

undoubtedly had only the one door. Jules made a note of the address and drove on by,

making sure he was not noticed by the two followers.

One hurdle had been overcome: he knew now that Helena was alive and where she was

located. The next problem was a tricky matter of logistics-how could he communicate

with her without revealing his identity to the people who were tailing her? He certainly

couldn't walk up to her door; the tails would be instructed to make note of anyone

contacting her. Helena's corn line was bound to be tapped; even if he called her from a

public booth and spoke entirely in code, the people tapping her would be aware that she

was in contact with someone else and would be alerted. He could wait until she went out

on another errand, then break into her apartment and leave a note-except that her

apartment was likely to be bugged with both microphones and cameras, and he would be

spotted, photographed and identified.

Jules parked his cart and walked along the street, considering the problem. Finally the

solution occurred to him. He walked to a nearby stationery store and bought a notepad,

a pen and a box of chalk. Then he went to a bench in a park and carefully composed a

note in SOTE's highest level code. Deciphered, the note began: "Call the following

number at exactly seven P.M.: 84-76-873. It's a public phone at the Beechwood Cafe.

One of us will answer. Say you dialed a wrong number and hang up immediately." The

note went on to give further instructions for arranging a private meeting between them.

With the message completed, he looked around until he found a rock of adequate size

and took it with him back to the corner nearest Helena's apartment. He put the rock

down next to the corner call post, with the piece of paper under it, one edge barely

visible. At this position he was out of sight of Helena's two followers at the door and,

when he was sure that no one else was watching, he took a piece of chalk and scrawled

a bit of graffiti on the call post. It was a heart; in the upper comer he wrote the name

"Wombat" (his own code designation) and in the lower side diagonally opposite he wrote

"Periwinkle" (Yvette's code name). Through the middle of the heart he drew an arrow.

To the casual eye, the scrawling would look like just the work of some immature mind,

the sort of thing that was seen on all planets all over the Galaxy. Nobody would stop to

think that there weren't any children on Sanctuary, and they would ignore the writing. It

was something that civilized people learned to tune out of their minds.

But Helena's was not a casual eye. Jules knew from previous experience just how quickly

she was able to grasp seemingly innocent signals and decipher them immediately. That

call post was the one closest to Helena's apartment, and was the one she would almost

certainly use when summoning a cart. The two code names would register instantly in her

file-like mind. Her eye would follow in the direction of the arrow, which pointed directly at

the rock. She would find some excuse to bend down casually and examine it, notice the

paper and palm it, to read in private.

Jules gave his handiwork one quick skim to make sure it was perfect, then walked

quickly away. The longer he dawdled here, the more chance he had of arousing

suspicion. The plan had been put in motion; the next step would be up to Helena.

He walked two blocks to the next closest call post and was about to summon a cart to

take him home when he spotted Pias Nav across the street. The gambler was just

emerging from an alleyway, looking both ways as though to be sure no one was

observing him. He didn't see Jules standing across the street more than sixty meters

away. He wiped his hands nervously on the sides of his jumpsuit and walked briskly in the

opposite direction.

Jules stopped and wondered at this strange behavior. Something happened in that alley

that he doesn't want to be associated with, he thought. And whatever it is, I want to know

about it-for Evie's sake.

Crossing the street, he walked with feigned casualness to the mouth of the alleyway. The

space between the two buildings was narrow and the buildings were high, shutting out

most of the light and making it hard to see. Cautiously, Jules picked his way over and

around scattered boxes and trash that littered the ground, until he came to a dead end.

He looked around, but saw nothing unusual at first glance. He was about to start out

toward the street again, disappointed, when he nearly slipped on a wet spot of ground.

Leaning down closer, he saw that it was a small pool of fresh blood.

The pool was fed by a little stream that emanated from a large overturned box one meter

away. Jules went over to it and lifted the carton to see what was under it.

There lay the body of Rowe Camery. The pirate had been tied up very securely and

gagged so that he could not make a sound. Then both his wrists and throat had been

slashed, quite neatly. His clothing was soaked in his own blood, and his eyes stared

openly in glassy horror. He had been dead for a little while, at least.

Even Jules's steady nerves were a little shaken by the sight. He set the box down again

and took a step backward, leaning against the wall so that he could think.

As far as he was concerned, this clinched his case against Pias Nav. Yvette would not

be able to excuse away such a barbaric, deliberate murder as this. The man was a

ruthless killer, not to be trusted.

Rowe Carnery was not his concern. Virtually everyone on this planet was here because

he had committed enough crimes to fill several books. Jules didn't_ care if they all

murdered one another-it would save himself and the imperial courts a lot of trouble. But

his sister was his concern. She would have to be told about this before she became any

more deeply involved with the gambler from Newforest.

It was not a task he was looking forward to.

As he'd feared, she took it pretty hard.

He had gone back to their apartment and waited for her to return. A brief hand signal

indicated there was something he wanted to talk to her about privately, so they went out

on one of their habitual walks. He told her first about finding Helena and leaving the

message, which thrilled her completely. While she was still on the peak of excitement,

thinking about what their plans should be from this point, he told her what he had seen

after planting the message.

Yvette was stunned. She sat down on a large nearby rock and stared blankly out into

empty air. "I can't believe it," she muttered, half to herself.

"I wouldn't lie about a thing like that."

She shook her head. "I know that. It's just . . . I know Pias. Or at least I thought I knew

him. I would never have believed him capable of anything like that. He had a few faults,

but on the whole he seemed to prefer to avoid trouble. You don't think there's any

chance that someone else committed the murder and he just stumbled across Carnery's

body by accident, do you?"

Jules cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose it is possible. But in the back of a dark, narrow

alley, where he had no business being in the first place? And after the look I saw on his

face in Carnery's cabin aboard ship? Maybe one chance in a billion, but those aren't odds

I'd care to bet."

Yvette closed her eyes and bowed her head down. Jules could tell that she was fighting

back a stream of tears. "Tu as raison, as always. I knew it, but I had to ask the

question." She shook her head slowly from side to side. "I knew from that first meal

aboard ship that something was not right between Pias and Carnery. Pias's tone was

slightly off when he spoke about Carnery. Yet it seemed to be a one-sided thing;

Carnery took no notice of him."

She pounded her fist repeatedly against the rock on which she sat. "Oh.Pias, why, why,

why? Why did you have to do it? Why did it all have to be here and now? Why did things

have to be the way they are?"

Jules stood beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't give you any

explanation."

"I was thirty years old last month, and still without any `prospects,' as they say. You

must admit, for our family that's pretty unusual. Most of our women are married and

tending large families by this time."

"Well, even in our family, you're pretty unusual. Any woman can have a husband and

kids; how many of them can save the Empire as often as you have?"

Yvette looked up, a watery smile on her face. She patted her brother's hand. "You have

the habit, mon frere, of injecting business matters into the most intimate of conversations.

Yes, of course you're right, I do have a higher obligation. There are already plenty of our

relatives busily engaged in prolonging the family line. We have work to do."

Her eyes were dry by now, her voice level. Her body was still trembling slightly, but it

was coming more under control. She was back to being Yvette d'Alembert, secret agent

extraordinaire for the Service of the Empire-a top professional doing what she did best.

Pias Nav was, if not totally forgotten, at least relegated to a distant corner of her mind

where he could be locked away until there was the time available to go into that matter

at leisure.

"The way I see it, then," she went on, "we hang around the Beechwood Cafe at seven

P.M. tonight; if she doesn't call, we assume she didn't spot the message yet, and go

back there tomorrow."

"Au juste. If she misses three nights in a row, we check up on her and try something

else. I don't think she will, though-she's a clever girl."

"Not too clever. She's got two people tailing her every move, and probably more

electronic gadgetry in her house than a mad inventor."

"It could be she knows she's being watched and just has not had the need to shake her

tails off vet."

Yvette shook her head. "Call it a hunch, but that's not the way I read the situation.

Remember, Helena's had all the training but not a lick of practical experience. She got

involved in this business because she wanted to show us all that she could handle the

job. I'm willing to bet she's so wrapped up in her own infallibility she hasn't even

considered the possibility that she's been spotted. You said those tails were pretty good

and, subconsciously, Helena doesn't want to see them there."

"She'll know they're there when she gets my note; I told her so quite explicitly."

"Poor girl, it'll probably be something of a blow to her ego. But she'll survive it, I think. I

only wish we knew some way of getting off this planet again. We've been so busy

looking for her that we haven't really had a chance to explore that situation."

"She may be able to help us there. She's been here for weeks, observing conditions. She

must know something about the schedule of incoming and outgoing ships, how things are

organized and guarded, and so on. With her knowledge and our diabolical cunning, we

should be able to manage something."

"Overweening modesty certainly isn't one of your shortcomings, is it? Alors, we dine

tonight at the Beechwood Cafe and hope to receive a com call at seven from a 'wrong

number."

They were at the restaurant at six-thirty and ordered their meal. They specifically

requested a booth towards the back, near the public corn unit. At five minutes before

seven, Yvette got up from the table and stationed herself beside the instrument. She

tried to remain casual and not look at her ringwatch as the minutes crept past toward the

appointed hour.

At precisely seven o'clock, the unit began buzzing. Yvette let it buzz for several seconds,

then-when she could stand the suspense no longer-she picked up the receiver, making

sure the visual transmit button was off, and said, "Hello?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," came Helena's welcome voice. "I must have dialed the wrong

number." And, as instructed, she clicked off immediately.

Yvette went back to the table and reported to her brother. "Connections completed."

Jules gave a tiny nod. "We'd better finish our dinner then and get home to sleep. We've

got an important meeting tomorrow."

The operation designed to shake off Helena's tails was scheduled to begin at noon the

next day in the same shopping center where Jules had first spotted Helena. The Head's

Girl Friday appeared promptly when she was supposed to and began walking into a

certain restaurant, as though to have lunch before doing her shopping. The two shadows

started to follow her inside, but their plans were interrupted by 'two timely "accidents."

Yvette d'Alembert, carrying an awkward armload of . packages, collided with the female

follower, scattering boxes in all directions. "Now look what you've done, you clumsy oaf,"

Yvette shrieked. "I sure as hell hope nothing got broken in there. Did you hear anything

break?"

"No," said the other woman, anxious to be away from this scene and back to following

her target. "No, I don't think so. I'm in kind of a hurry . . ."

"Sure, I'll bet you are," Yvette said shrilly. She grabbed the woman's arm as the other

tried to slip away from her. "That's what gives you the right to knock people down and

scatter their packages from one end of the block to the other, isn't it? If you wouldn't be

in so much of a hurry, maybe you could take the time to look where you're going. Maybe

you wouldn't be running into total strangers like this."

Yvette's whining voice was beginning to draw a crowd, which was the last thing the other

woman wanted. It is not good form for a shadow to draw attention. This whole business

was becoming very embarrassing. "Listen, I'm very sorry, truly I am, but . . ."

"What good does `sorry' do me, huh? Does it help me pick up my packages that are all

over the sidewalk?" Yvette started limping exaggeratedly on one leg, while still holding

onto the other woman's arm. "And on top of everything else, I think I sprained my ankle

when you knocked me down."

"I didn't knock you down . . ."

"Then why are my packages all over the street? Do you think I just threw them there for

my health? Why is my ankle throbbing with pain? It feels like it's going to fall off any

second. It's all your fault."

"Look, I said I'm sorry, now let me go!" The woman pushed Yvette away and started off

in the direction Helena had taken. Yvette could have tried to stall her some more, but it

would have been too much. She didn't want to divert any more suspicion onto herself

than was necessary. She had held up the tail long enough for Helena to do what was

required; it was now up to the Girl Friday to see if she did indeed have what it took to be

a secret agent.

The male follower, meanwhile-oblivious to the fate of his comrade-had actually gotten

into the restaurant after Helena. Here, however, Jules was ready with a similar ploy. As

the man walked quickly to keep up with Helena's increasing pace, Jules stepped in front

of him with a tray full of food and cold drinks. The contents ended up being spilled all

down the front of the shadow's clothing.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, I didn't see you," Jules said in an apologetic manner that would

have won him the Galaxy Award for acting "Here, let me help you wipe some of that

mess off."

"That really isn't necessary," the other man said hastily. His only thought was getting out

of here quickly and after Helena.

"No, really, I insist." Jules took the man's wrist in an unbreakable grip and led him over to

one table where there was a pile of napkins. His mien was so self-deprecating that the

other man was not really aware that he had no choice in the matter. Jules was strong

enough to drag a horse if he chose.

"Please, I have to meet someone," the man protested. "This will only take a second,

relax," Jules assured the fellow in soothing tones. "And besides, we don't want to stain

that nice outfit you're wearing, do we?" With exaggerated neatness he wiped and

dabbed at the spots on the front of the other man's suit with his right hand while holding

the man firmly in place with the left. He reached over and dipped the corner of one nap-

kin in a glass of cold water that was standing nearby. "This will keep some of those

spots from setting in permanently," he blathered on. "It's a trick my mother taught me."

"I don't give a dancing drap for your mother," the follower said furiously. He tried to tug

gently away from Jules's grip and found that was impossible, so he gave a mighty heave

with all his strength. Jules chose that instant to let go, with the result that the man

tumbled heels over head backwards over the table, crashing into another pair of diners

and spilling their food all over the floor.

Stunned, the man tried to pick himself up off the ground and Jules, ever helpful, went

over to lend him assistance. The man had almost reached a standing position when

Jules's foot "slipped." Actually, Jules used a smooth bit of judo to flip the man over, but

the results were the same: the hapless shadow landed hard on the floor once more. This

time he was even more stunned, and did not try to get up immediately.

"Don't help me!" he snarled as Jules approached him again. "I'm perfectly capable of

handling this on my own, thank you."

"You haven't done too well so far," Jules commented quietly.

The man got slowly to his feet, muttering some very uncomplimentary things about Jules

under his breath. At that moment the man's partner burst through the door. She looked

around and saw her comrade in sorry disarray, with no sign of Helena. She knew the girl

she was following had not gone out the front door, so she hurried around to the back,

with her coworker hot on her heels.

The restaurant did have a back door, which led out onto an alley. Several other shops

had back doors which also led out into the same alley, but there was no one in sight. The

woman pointed for her friend to go to the right while she moved left. They each went to

their respective ends, but there was no trace of Helena on either side. Trying the doors

as they came back down the alley, they found them all locked from the inside.

By the time they returned to the inside of the restaurant; there was no sign of the two

people whose "clumsiness" had delayed them. They had vanished as efficiently as

Helena.

Fearfully, the two people went to the nearest vidicom booth to inform their boss that they

had lost their target. Garst would not be pleased.

As soon as she saw Jules begin his act, Helena moved into action. Jules had told her in

his note that he would have a cart waiting in the alley out back of the restaurant, and

indeed there was one. He had fed it with plenty of coins and left its motor running so that

it wouldn't be recalled to the local dispatching station. Now Helena hopped in quickly and

drove off down the alley to the street. Its fifteen-kilometer-an-hour pace was infuriatingly

slow in this situation, and Helena felt she could make better time on foot. She could have,

at least as far as the end of the alley, but Jules had been thinking of long distance

movement. Running would move her faster, but would wear her out and her pursuers

might be able to catch up with her. The carts were slower but steadier, and could go

indefinitely.

Helena drove her cart around the corner and merged with the general traffic. It being

lunchtime, there were a good many other carts on the street as well, and it was easy for

her to lose herself in the flow. After driving for twenty minutes in a most circuitous route,

she came to the park Jules had designated as the rendezvous spot. She left the cart

then and walked to the specific stand of trees Jules had mentioned in his note.

The d'Alemberts joined her within three minutes. Their descriptions were not as well

known-the followers had seen them only for a couple of minutes, under harried

circumstances-and so they did not need to take as much precaution getting here.

"Oh, it's so good to see the two of you again," Helena said, kissing Jules and Yvette in

turn. "But what are you both doing here?"

"Looking after you," Jules said sternly. "A person with your responsibilities simply has no

right to go gallivanting off into danger anytime she has a mind to. If the knowledge you're

carrying in your head should reach the wrong people, all of SOTS would be in trouble."

"But . . ." Helena started to protest.

"Plus," Yvette added, cutting her off, "your father is worried to death about you. If you

refuse to deal on a professional level, think on a personal level. Is it right for you to treat

him this way?"

"You could have been killed at any time," Jules went on with the harangue. "You still

could, even more now that you've slipped your tail. Is it worth it?"

Helena hung her head. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, and I'll bet you'll be sorrier by the time we get you home. I f we get you home,"

Yvette added ominously. "But right now, we're more concerned about getting you there;

the spanking can come later. You've been here several weeks now at least. What have

you learned about the place that might help us?"

"Not nearly as much as I would have liked," Helena admitted. "I've learned virtually

nothing about whoever's running the show. The administration is performed very quietly

and secretively here; they don't want much publicity. I have learned that things seem to

be controlled from a complex over on the north side of town, less than a kilometer from

the spaceport. There's a series of low, white buildings with no particularly solid looking

defenses in front. But the guards seem to spend an awful lot of time in that section. The

address is 666 Crowley Drive. I'm convinced something is going on inside there, but I

haven't been able to get in yet to check up on it."

"No visible defenses may mean they've got some pretty sophisticated stuff," Jules

mused. "Or it may mean there's nothing there worth guarding. It's hard to tell at this

point. What about ships? We'll need some method of transportation if we're going to get

away from here."

"There's always plenty of ships on the spaceport field. Sanctuary has no agriculture and

no industry. It imports everything. That's why the prices are so scandalous."

Yvette gave a low whistle. "And they support 27,000 people here, day in and day out.

That must take an enormous organization."

"It would take a hundred ships a day to bring in all the food," Jules mused aloud.

"Yes, and that only scratches the surface. The luxury goods have to come from

somewhere, too," Helena pointed out. "I've done a good deal of figuring on this myself-I

can think, on occasion. All these shiploads of cargo have to be coordinated. They have to

be diverted from elsewhere, since this planet is not officially on anyone's charts. The

paperwork alone must be staggering, the way they juggle all the shipments without letting

anyone suspect where they're going."

"We're talking about an Empire-wide conspiracy," Jules said. "It might even be related to

the one that started the business with the robots."

"If I hadn't seen Garst fall into that recycling vat with my own eyes," Yvette said, "I would

swear this had his style to it. First, to find people disappearing without a trace. Second,

because the operation is organized with such terrific efficiency. Third-well, he was First

Advisor to Marchioness Gindri of Vesa, an airless moon that had to import all its goods

to feed a population much larger than this. If anyone would know how to establish a

setup like this, it would be him."

"I'm sure he didn't have a monopoly on those talents," Jules said. "The coincidence is

strange, though. Perhaps the boss of this endeavor is someone who worked with him at

one time or who has read about his methods."

Jules could see that all this talk about Garst was up setting his sister. When the two of

them had been conducting their investigation on Vesa, there'd been a man with whom

Yvette had found some romantic attachment; but Dak Lehman had died, as had

innumerable others, as a victim of Garst's murder and robbery ring, and Yvette still held

bitter feelings about the man responsible. Garst had fallen into a vat of chemicals while

Yvette was chasing him through Vesa's recycling plant, and even though that could not

have been a pleasant death Yvette felt cheated of her revenge.

The talk of Garst, coming on top of the upsetting news about Pias Nav, was beginning to

fray Yvette's nerves, so Jules decided to change the subject now before the

conversation became even stickier. "It doesn't really matter, though, who is behind this

operation at the moment. We have to get off Sanctuary so that we can report all of this

to headquarters. The Service will be able to take care of the detail work."

Yvette nodded agreement. "The most obvious move is that we dare not go back to our

respective apartments. The Boss will know by now, Helena, that you gave his people the

slip, which means that you had some reason to do so. He only left you free because he

thought he could keep a close eye on you; now that his game has been spoiled, he'd

either have you killed or picked up for questioning the second you're spotted."

"Descriptions of us will be out, too," Jules added. "Those tails didn't get too good a look

at us, but anyone who appears to resemble us even vaguely will probably be snatched."

Helena shrugged. "There's nothing worth going back for in my apartment. A few notes,

perhaps, but I have them memorized. I suppose the only choice we have now is to run

for the spaceport and hope to sneak aboard an outgoing ship before they think to stop

us." "Exactly." Jules knew that everything that had gone before this moment-the

burglaries, the chases by police, the arrival at Sanctuary under false identities hard

though they may have been, would be child's play compared to this final stage of the

assignment. The entire security force of this criminal's haven would he mustered to

prevent them from getting away with the information they possessed. That information

would spell doom for the leaders of Sanctuary.

The trio from SOTE would have to look carefully with each step they took-for each step

might well be their last.

CHAPTER 9

Ambush and Ally

Garst slammed his fist down on his desktop in undiluted anger. "What do you mean, you

lost her?" he bellowed. The woman who'd been assigned to follow Helena wilted visibly.

Even though she was reporting over the vidicom from the restaurant, her boss's rage

was so vast that it came through full strength over the screen in front of her. "She had

help," she explained weakly. "We weren't expecting it."

"That's right," added her male companion in defense. "Up until that moment, we'd had no

indication she even knew we were there."

"And so you let yourselves be bummed into one of the simplest sucker games around,

eh?" Garst's voice dripped cynicism. "Weren't you given special orders -that she was a

high SOTE official? Didn't you realize that meant she would be unusually adept? Couldn't

you have figured out that one reason why we were watching her was because she might

have some confederates who would help her?" He switched off the corn unit in disgust,

stood up, then walked once around the perimeter of his desk.

His temper only slightly cooler after this excursion, he sat down again and punched

viciously at a button on his intercom. In a second, the screen lit up to show the visage of

Jinda Rawling, his chief of security. "I suppose you were monitoring that last report,"

Garst said.

"Yes sir," the woman replied. "I have to apologize for the sheer ineptitude of my two

people, I'd thought them better trained than that."

"Never mind the apologies, it's too late to do anything about that. What are you doing

about picking the woman up again?"

"At your orders, six, we placed directional beepers in all her clothes while she was out of

her apartment. The beepers had to be small to avoid their being noticed, which only gives

them a broadcast range of under one kilometer. I've sent teams out to sweep the city in

an orderly pattern. We can cover the entire metropolitan area in an hour; with any-luck,

we'll relocate her in less time than that."

"Good. Keep me informed of all progress."

"Yes, sir. What do you want us to do when we find her?"

Garst weighed the various alternatives. "Maintain long distance trivision surveillance," he

said after a slight pause. "Now that she thinks she's gotten away from us, she may tip

her hand. I'm unhappy about that hour, though. An entire world can be lost in that time.

You'd better be right, Rawling; if it takes so much as one minute more than an hour,

you're out of a job."

"I'd expect nothing less, sir." Rawling was proud of her work, and even a little touchy on

the subject. She bad drilled her guards relentlessly, and Garst had to admit that they

were one of the best-trained private forces he had ever seen.

Garst gave her a brief nod and cut the set off. He did have confidence in Rawling's

abilities, even though two of her people had slipped up badly. And yet, perhaps he could

work even that slip-up to his advantage. Having accomplished their ruse so easily, the

SOTE forces might underestimate his defensive capabilities-which would be a lethal

mistake on their part.

Turning to the computer outlet on his screen, he punched a set of buttons and ordered up

a fax copy of the file so far on Helena von Wilmenhorst. He scanned the lines quickly,

assimilating most of the information in a single glance. The young lady had been quite

active in her comparatively short stay here, but had learned little of significance. She had

been snooping around the headquarters complex several times, but had never been given

the opportunity to get inside, so no real harm had been done there. She'd been to

practically every portion of the city and probably knew her way about perfectly-but so did

Rawling's guards, so there would be no advantage in that. She had spent a lot of time at

the spaceport, studying the systems of arrivals and departures; well, he would see to it

that her knowledge in that area was nullified, too.

On the whole, he felt he still held the upper hand. Duchess Helena knew most of the

surface working of the city, but that was all. According to the reports, she had never

been close to suspecting the system of underground causeways that could transport his

guards to virtually any spot in the city within minutes. She was, by all indications,

unarmed. Her companions were still mysteries, but even so there seemed little that they

could do against his forces.

Now that SOTE had actually made its move, he was licking his lips at the excitement of

the confrontation. The waiting game had been interesting, but his attention bad begun to

wane of late; today's action revived the struggle. It would all be coming to an end very

quickly now.

There were only three alternatives open to the infiltrators as far as he could determine.

One, they could leave the city, flee to the undeveloped land beyond the boundaries of

Sanctuary. But they would be on foot there, without supplies for a long stay, and his

troops would be armed, well supplied and able to patrol the area in copters and armored

cars. There would be little chance of escape that way.

Two, they could try a frontal attack on headquarters. That would net them little; they

must know he would have strong defenses set up against any invasion as small as theirs.

Even if they penetrated and achieved some objective inside, they would still have to get

out again and off planet in order to make their achievement count-and the odds against

all that happening were vanishingly small.

Three, they could try to make an escape at the spaceport. To Garst, this seemed the

most likely possibility. There was a lot of traffic and frequently a lot of confusion at the

port, and a casual observer might think to slip through the defenses at that point. But

ever since Helena's arrival, Garst had had the guard at the spaceport quadrupled. He

could send teams of reinforcements there within five minutes, should any trouble arise.

To his mind, the spaceport was as secure as any place on this entire planet.

Theoretically, therefore, he should have no worries at all about the outcome of this

operation. Nevertheless, he found himself staring at the face of the clock on his desk and

wondering why it was taking Rawling so long to get results.

The minutes dragged slowly, and Garst found himself unable to concentrate on any of his

other work. He paced around the room and reread the report on Helena twice more.

Finally, forty-five minutes after Helena's disappearance, Rawling's face again appeared

on the intercom screen.

"We've been able to triangulate her position, sir," the security chief reported.

"Where is she?"

"Out in a park at the moment. We'll have a long distance camera crew in a copter there

in a minute so you can view the scene."

Garst waited with frantic impatience until Rawling's face was replaced by a fuzzy,

wobbling image of three people in a park, sitting peacefully amid some bushes. Helena

von Wilmenhorst sat in the middle, chatting as though with old friends.

But it was not Helena on whom Garst's eyes focused. The man and woman who flanked

her were frighteningly familiar to him. He had met the woman once when she was calling

herself Carmen Velasquez; the man, at the time, had gone under the name Georges du-

Champs. But he had learned, much to his sorrow, that they were two incredibly talented

people who worked as a team. He knew they had worked for some law enforcement

agency-and obviously, since they were friends of von Wilmenhorst, they must be agents

of SOTS.

Between the two of them, they had totally demolished his organization on Vesa-an

organization he had spent twenty years nurturing. It was only by a ruse that he had

managed to escape with his life from the maniacal fury of that DesPlainian woman.

Occasionally, in a nightmare, he would see their faces coming toward him, as though

from a great distance. They would reach out their powerful hands and grab him, holding

him up in the air and shaking him like a rag doll until all his stuffing flew out. He would

wake from those terrifying dreams sweating and trembling; and always, -the afterimage

was the face of that DesPlainian woman, glaring her implacable hatred at him.

Garst found himself sweating and trembling now as he stared at the fuzzy images on the

screen. He didn't know how long he had been watching, but suddenly a voice broke him

out of his waking nightmare. Rawling was speaking over the picture on the viewer.

"We've checked their identities with our files. The names are Jaroslav and Yarmilla

Dubcek, brother and sister. They came in just a couple of days ago from Cordoba."

"I don't care what they' call themselves, they're poison, both of them!" Garst fairly

screamed. "I've dealt with them before. They have talents that are not human. We must

kill them instantly."

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes. They are to be shot on sight-and with blasters, not stunners. They must be given

no chance to react; they're lightning incarnate."

"The copier is out of range at the moment, and if it flies any closer they might spot it

coming. I could have a whole platoon of guards there in two minutes, if you like."

"Yes . . . no! They'll be making their move soon." Garst was shaking his head to clear it,

trying hard to think. "There's only one reason they've come here-to get me. They've

found out I'm alive and they've come to finish the job they started before. As soon as

they've finished their talk they'll be on their way here to headquarters to ferret me out.

But they're not going to get me, Rawling. I want you to pull every guard you've got and

station them around this building. Those three are not to get in."

"All my guards? Even from the spaceport?"

"You heard me." Garst was in an unreasoning fit of terror.

"And you want all three blasted?"

"Yes. Well, if you can get the von Wilmenhorst girl alive, so much the better. But that is

not first priority. Kill the other two, by any and all means possible."

In her own private office, Jinda Rawling clucked her tongue slightly. She'd never seen her

boss like this, and it worried her. If something could frighten the imperturbable Garst this

badly, it had to be important. She would make certain all her guards had instructions to

kill those two DesPlainians on sight, no quarter given. But, like any good tactician, she

doubted the wisdom of removing all her people from an area as strategic as the

spaceport. If Garst was right and the trio from SOTS attacked headquarters, the guards

would certainly repel if not kill them. The agents would turn to flee, almost certainly to the

port. Leaving at least a token contingent there would catch them in a pincer movement.

I'll take off the extras there and leave just the normal complement, she thought,

disobeying her boss's orders. If he criticizes me, I'll tell him I misunderstood his com-

mand.

The trio from SOTE moved quietly on foot through the streets of Sanctuary. They dared

not take the slowmoving carts now; to be caught in the open in one of those vehicles

would be tantamount to suicide. So instead they skulked around the back streets or

mingled in crowds traveling in the same direction.

They reached the gates of the spaceport by late afternoon and hid behind a building until

the sun went down. Night would have to be their ally, although the spaceport field would

not be completely dark. Floodlights would illuminate vast areas almost as brightly as day

because, as dependent as Sanctuary was on its imported materials, the flow of incoming

ships could not be abated for half the day simply because of a little darkness.

As they waited, the sharp eyes of Jules and Yvette scanned the field before them, trying

to pick out all the guards and establish their routines.

"I'm nervous," Jules said as he surveyed the region ahead of them. "I don't see very

many guards. They must know we're headed this way."

"I'd think that would make it easier," Helena said. Yvette shook her head. "The guards

you don't see are far more dangerous than the ones you do."

"Oh."

Nightfall came, however, and there was no sign of any more guards. Every second they

delayed was another second in which they might be discovered, so Jules and Yvette

agreed that, whether they knew the full layout or not, they would have to act now. Jules

beckoned and the two women followed his lead.

Their first priority was to obtain weapons. They might be battling an army, and it would

be an impossibility unless they themselves had guns. With this in mind, they crept up on a

nearby tower where some sentries were stationed, away from the main body of the

guard. These people would not be missed for a little while and, isolated as they were,

they would make easy pickings.

Helena was left at the bottom of the tower to act as a lookout. Though the Head's Girl

Friday was eager for action, the d'Alemberts impressed on her the special circumstances

of this operation. They would have to climb up the outside of the tower and then still be

prepared to fight at once. Space within the watchroom would be crowded; Jules and

Yvette could fight as a coordinated unit, but adding a third member in such cramped

quarters could be dangerous. Reluctantly, Helena agreed to stand at the base of the

tower and whistle a warning if anything untoward should occur.

The two DesPlainians scrambled up opposite sides of the metal structure, grabbing at

the guy wires and struts for handholds. They made no noise as they climbed; Helena

occasionally glanced up and, even knowing they were there, she could not detect them.

As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she would indeed have been a liability to

them under these circumstances.

Jules and Yvette reached the top simultaneously and peered inside the open tower.

There were only three men, grouped together at the center. They were entirely too

relaxed, as though not expecting any trouble just yet. This worried Jules immensely;

surely the bosses of Sanctuary would have realized that the SOTE trio would try to make

their escape at the port. Why was security so lax?

At any rate, it was best to take advantage of the situation while it existed. Jules could

see his sister's eyes across the way, and he managed to catch her attention. At a slight

nod of his head, the DesPlainian furies leaped into action.

Vaulting over the enclosure, they waded into the group of sentries. Jules decked one

man instantly with a roundhouse punch that connected solidly on the hapless fellow's jaw.

Yvette gave her prime target a vicious blow to the kidneys, which doubled him over in

pain and allowed her to finish him off with a hit on the back of the neck. She turned just in

time to see Jules give the third man a kick in the solar plexus. The man gave a whoosh

and backed almost directly into Yvette. The female agent spun him around and delivered

the coup de grace with a punch in the face. In less than five seconds, the d'Alemberts

had captured the tower.

In bending over the guards to disarm them, the agents were surprised to find that the

men were carrying only blasters. "They play for keeps, it seems," Yvette whispered, and

Jules nodded solemnly. If the rest of the guards were similarly armed, they knew, their

escape attempt would be a dangerous game indeed., Unfortunately for them it was the

only game in town.

They scampered down the ladder again, and Jules handed Helena the third blaster they

had captured. The Head's daughter took the weapon without comment, though she, too,

must have realized the implications.

The trio then set off across the field toward a nearby ship that had recently unloaded and

would be departing soon.

Because of Sanctuary's mild climate, many of the items taken off the vessels were left

standing around outside at the edges of the field to await distribution, rather than being

taken inside some warehouse. Consequently, what could have been an empty, flat plain

between the gate and the ships was instead a veritable forest of boxes, crates, bins and

other containers. These afforded some cover as the three agents crept forward so that,

despite the bright floodlights that periodically swept the area, they managed to move

along unseen.

Though they had thought the searchlights would be a hazard to overcome, the bright

beams actually saved their lives. If it hadn't been for the illumination they provided, Yvette

might never have caught sight of the guard party that was about to blast them out of

existence.

They bad made it to the front line of boxes, with nothing now between them and the ship

they wanted but empty field. They discussed the matter quietly and decided to try to

bridge the distance in one quick run between spotlight sweeps. They were waiting for

this current sweep to end so they could make their break when Yvette's eye was

attracted by a sudden glint to the left. The piercing intensity of the floodlight reflected off

the belt buckle of one of the guards who had just walked into their row some twenty

meters away. The guards had their blasters already drawn, and they spotted the

intruders at almost precisely the same instant.

All stealth was cast aside now; their presence could no longer be kept secret. "Rube!"

Yvette yelled to warn her brother, and at the same time moved into action herself.

Helena could not be expected to react as quickly as a DesPlainian and, after all, the

whole point of their mission here had been to protect her and get her back safely to

Earth. Therefore, Yvette's action was taken in Helena's direction. She leaped at the girl,

brushing her rudely aside and into a small stack of crates, which toppled noisily to the

ground.

At his sister's cry Jules, too, popped into instant action. He dived to his left-toward the

attackerssimultaneously twisting his body in a squirming motion that was next to

impossible to focus on. He hit the ground with a crash that sent a tower of boxes cascad-

ing down on top of him. Although the impact of the boxes stunned him slightly, it was

they, not himself, that took the brunt of the blaster fire that was pouring out of the

sentries' guns. Some of the boxes were wooden and burst into flames as the heat from

the weapons' beams brought them to the incineration point. Jules could feel the heat near

his face and his eyebrows were slightly singed as he raised his own blaster and

struggled out from under the pile to return the guards' fire.

He found himself facing a battery of three men and one woman, all firing at him without

mercy. With a speed that only someone from a heavy-grav world could muster, he

dodged through the conflicting beams, getting burned slightly in the process, until he

found some metal boxes that offered him some cover. He fired back with his own

weapon then, and one of the guards dropped immediately. The others, taking the

warning, stopped their fire momentarily to head for cover themselves.

Jules took advantage of the respite-which lasted all of four seconds to break away from

his hiding place and bolt down the aisle at top speed . . . a speed that would leave a

casual observer breathless. His enemies, though, had no time to be impressed; all they

knew was that suddenly he was at the extreme limit of their blaster range and acting as

a rapidly moving target. He would be impossible to hit under these conditions, so they

would have to pursue him more actively. They darted from their shelters and took off in

pursuit.

As he ran, Jules looked around to see if he could spot his sister or Helena. His hurried

scan of the area revealed no sign of them. Good, he thought. Within minutes, the alarm

about their presence here would be spread all over the city and every guard on

Sanctuary would be converging on this area. If he could serve as a decoy to lead pursuit

away from the other two, they might have a slightly better chance of getting away. He

didn't even stop to think of what the consequences would be to himself; the success of

the mission was his overriding consideration. In the longstanding tradition of d'Alembert

loyalty, his own inevitable death meant little if it ultimately served the cause of Empire.

Yvette and Helena, meanwhile, had their own problems. The two had toppled into a

stack of boxes at Yvette's initial leap. Helena, not expecting the sudden action, had had

the wind knocked out of her lungs, but Yvette could not give her the time to recover.

Every millisecond counted. Grabbing the other woman tightly by the wrist, Yvette

dragged her friend hurriedly along the ground until they were behind another pile of

crates.

The spotlight was off them for the moment and they were back in darkness, but that

state of affairs would not last long. With all the noise this commotion was causing, it

would only be a few seconds before the floodlights were focused steadily on this area.

Yvette could hear the sounds of blasters in action. She assumed that her brother was

keeping at least some of the sentries busy, but there might still be more of them search-

ing the darkness for the two women. Their only chance for survival lay in rapid motion.

They dared not stand still.

Helena was coughing and shaking her head dizzily.

Yvette yanked her roughly to her feet. "Come on," she whispered. "We can't stop now."

And to herself she added, You wanted a taste of field action; this should give you

enough for your entire lifetime. Unfortunately, that may not be long.

Helena made a valiant struggle and did manage to get to her feet. Her long black hair

was all askew and covering half her face, so that she could barely see where she was

going. Yvette led her along by the hand, slowing her own pace down to a comparative

crawl. But it couldn't be helped; Helena had to be gotten out of here safely.

The floodlights swung on them again and sirens wailed through the night air. The sound

drilled right through the women's skulls, rattling their thoughts. Yvette ceased planning

her moves, relying on her well-trained instincts instead. If they couldn't save her, nothing

could.

A silhouette appeared before her against the glare of the light. Yvette fired by reflex and

the figure fell. More figures appeared to take its place. She pushed Helena violently

sideways to get her out of the line of fire, and began an elaborate dance of her own to

keep herself clear of the deadly beams.

Without warning, a wall of flames erupted on her left. Some of the boxes in that area

must have contained combustible materials, and a searing blaster beam had ignited one

pile. Within seconds, the area had heated up and was being covered by a cloud of thick,

black smoke.

Yvette found herself choking on the fumes, but she was' not alone-her pursuers were

also caught in the sudden inferno. The coughing of smoke-filled throats assailed her ears,

mingling with the hysteria of the sirens. She instinctively started  running  in the direction

opposite the coughing, then realized Helena was not with her.

She looked around wildly, her eyes stinging from the smoke. Through the tears that were

welling up, she thought she saw Helena being grabbed by one of the guards and

dragged, kicking and biting, away. Then more guards closed in around the scene and cut

it off from her further view.

She had to rescue Helena! That one thought resounded in her mind. But as she stopped

and turned around to take a step in that direction, a stack of burning boxes toppled

directly into her path, shooting sparks in all directions. The intense heat forced her back,

and when she looked again Helena was gone.

Her instincts for survival came to the fore. If it was impossible, momentarily, to perform

her mission, then she should save herself so that she could perform it later. She fled the

confusion at the fire, blasting down the few stray guards she saw. There seemed to be

more of them arriving every second, and the charge pack of her gun was beginning to

fade out. She stopped beside the charred body of one of her would-be killers and traded

guns with him; he would never miss it now.

The entire field was bathed in light now, and completely encircled by guards. She could

hear them yelling back and forth at one another as they tried to coordinate their efforts to

catch her. From the sounds of their voices, there must have been fifty of them.

For one of the few times in her life, Yvette felt the sinking feeling of despair. There did

not seem to be any way in the Universe she could outfight and elude fifty fully armed

people all by herself. Even she and her brother fighting back to back would have a hard

time coping with odds of twenty-five to one-and enemy reinforcements were pouring in at

an even greater rate. It was not fear Yvette felt. She had long ago resigned herself to

the thought of dying in the service of her Emperor. What made her feel bad was the

knowledge that she had failed in her mission here. To die and succeed was a glorious

end; to die a failure was ignominious.

Suddenly she heard a thunderous roar, a squeal of tires and a crashing sound

approaching her. From out of nowhere, a long, low limousine appeared. It was black,

nearly five meters long and almost three wide. It came racing up at a breakneck pace,

toppling stacks of crates that lay in its path.

It pulled to a screeching stop in front of her and one side door popped open. She raised

her blaster to fire automatically, but some instinct made her hold back and not shoot. She

thought she heard a voice over the din saying, "Quick, get in!"

There was absolutely nothing to lose at this point, so she did. The instant she was

seated-before she could even close the door behind her-the car shot forward, knocking

over still more cartons and adding to the total confusion.

The driver drove with such quick reflexes and reckless daring that she was sure it must

be her brother. Her first glance at him through the semidarkness of the car's interior

reinforced that impression. But then Yvette realized that she was making the same

mistake she had made once before.

The person behind the controls was none other than Pias Nav.

CHAPTER 10

Interrogations

A thousand thoughts popped into Yvette's mind, a million questions that Nav had to

answer occurred to her. She put all of them aside for the moment as irrelevant. Right

now it didn't matter what heinous crimes Nav had committed; he was saving her from the

guards, and that was what counted. Later, at a more convenient moment, questions of

guilt could be raised.

Therefore, instead of thanking him or asking what he was doing here, her first words to

him were; "My brother."

Nav understood precisely what she meant, and gave a slight nod. He pressed the

accelerator button and the car gave an extra surge as it leaped forward on its new quest

to find Jules. The presence of the car was confusing to the enemy. They knew it was one

of their own vehicles, but it was behaving in a totally unexplained manner. A few of them

guessed at the truth and fired blaster bolts in the car's direction. The few that hit

bounced harmlessly off the metal sides; the car, Yvette surmised, must have enough

armor plating to withstand the fire of band weapons. But there were few shots that even

came close to hitting; Nav was driving like a calculating madman, swerving in and out so

quickly that few guards had time to react or take careful aim.

After driving recklessly for thirty seconds, they came to a cluster of guards gathered in

one area and excited as a pack of hounds chasing a cornered animal. Jules had found a

cargo tractor and had backed it up against the wall of a building. The tractor gave him

effective cover to shoot at the guards while they had no clear shots at him. He could hold

them at bay for the moment, but there was little doubt the charge in his blaster would

soon be spent, leaving him stranded there helpless.

Nav drove at the pack of guards from the rear, where they weren't expecting an attack.

They scattered quickly in their haste to avoid being run over, and Nav zipped through ,the

crowd into no-man's-land, swerving broadside to a stop in front of Jules. Yvette flung her

door and yelled, "ICI!"

Jules needed no second invitation. With one quick glance to make sure no one was in

firing position at that instant, he vaulted over the tractor and crossed the distance

between it and the car so rapidly that those people observing it could only blink in

astonishment. Yvette slid over on the seat closer to Nav, giving her brother room to climb

in beside her. As was the case before, Nav barely waited until Jules was in before

gunning the accelerator to the limit. He spun the car around and headed for a little knot of

guards who had started to regroup after his last pass. The people scattered again as

Nav drove through and left a trail of havoc in his wake.

With no reason to linger now, Nav was not about to let anything stop him on his way out

of the spaceport. He pushed his vehicle to its top speed of 175 kilometers an hour and

was out the main gate before any of the guards could reach their own cars and give

chase.

Garst was furious with himself. I overestimated them this time, he thought. I thought that

their being here meant they'd found out about me. But they hadn't. They were only

investigating Sanctuary itself.

He was grateful that he had a security chief like Rawling. If she had merely obeyed his

orders, the SOTS trio would have gotten completely away, leaving him to look like an

idiot while explaining the failure to Lady A. Rawling had behaved with commendable

speed, too; at the first alarm from the port, she was able to mobilize nearly all her

personnel and get them there on the double. It was solely through her efforts that Helena

von Wilmenhorst had been captured intact. The two DesPlainians had escaped, but that

was not Rawling's fault; no one could have presupposed the miraculous intervention of

what had to be a fourth SOTE operative.

Rawling had apologized for that, of course, but she assured him that her people were

combing the entire city and that no one could evade her net for long. Garst nodded,

knowing just how thorough Rawling was.

I might as well examine my winnings. "Send in the von Wilmenhorst woman," he said

aloud.

Helena was wheeled into the room. She had been strapped into a chair and, as a further

precaution, had been given a mild tranquilizer to keep her from making any serious

attempts to escape. But even the drug could not stifle the expression of shock that

registered on her face as she saw him. Her eyebrows arched and she exclaimed "Boche

moi" under her breath.

"Do you recognize me then, Your Grace?" Garst asked, using her formal title to indicate

he knew who she was.

"I . . . I've seen pictures. You're Garst. But . . . but you're dead."

"An exaggerated but convenient rumor. No doubt your DesPlainian friends described my

demise in some detail."

Helena did not react to that remark, so Garst continued his harangue. "Well, it is true

that, when I saw the woman charging at me, I started running. My foot slipped and I fell

through the door to the vat of recycling chemicals. There is, however, a catwalk for the

benefit of the plant's workers that runs around the lip of the tank; I landed on that and ran

around to the tank's back exit before anyone came to the door to look in. When they

couldn't see me, they surmised I had fallen into the chemicals and been dissolved. I saw

no profit in disillusioning them. Instead, I left Vesa as quickly as I could and made some

contacts that eventually landed me in charge of the operation here."

He walked over to the helpless woman, pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. "Now

that I've been so gracious as to tell you some things about myself, perhaps you would

care to reciprocate. What are you doing here?"

Helena just glared at him.

'"I know you are Duchess Helena von Wilmenhorst, chief administrative assistant to your

father the Grand Duke, who is also the Head of SOTS."

Helena's eyes widened, but still she said nothing.

"But there still are so many things I don't know, and I need to know them. Who your

friends are, for instance, and what I may expect from them. But you're not going to tell

me, are you?"

More silence from the girl strapped in the chair.

Garst sighed and stood up. "I didn't really think you would. SOTS personnel have a high

reputation for not divulging information willingly, even under torture. It's even said that

they are given conditioning against most forms of truth drugs. Which leaves me only one

alternative.

He went to his desk and, out of the top drawer, pulled a hypos prayer filled with a

colorless liquid.

There was no doubt in Helena's mind what that fluid was: nitrobarb. Under its influence,

she would tell Garst anything he wanted to know-and she only had a fifty percent chance

of surviving the experience, even if Garst decided to let her live.

"Don't use that," she said. "I'll talk."

"A very nice offer, Your Grace-but at this stage of our relationship, not a very trustworthy

one. You would talk most fluently and most dishonestly, giving me lies that are backed up

with just enough truth to make them believable. I think I'll stick to proven methods."

As he approached the bound girt, she struggled to get away, but to no avail. Garst

injected the vicious drug into her arm and within seconds she had passed into the deep

coma that was the first step of the drug's reaction. In another twenty minutes she would

return to semiconsciousness and tell him anything that was in her mind.

Garst settled back patiently to wait, suddenly feeling very confident. He had plenty of

time.

The three fugitives ditched their stolen car shortly after they'd escaped from the

spaceport area and eluded their pursuit. Since all three were from heavy gravity worlds,

they were able to run at an equal pace and be far enough away from the car to be

safe-for a short while at least.

They took refuge in an alley behind a group of stores that were closed for the night.

There in the shadows they bent over, panting to recover their breath before deciding

what move to make next. Jules in particular was very concerned about this sudden turn

of events and what it might mean. He had not questioned Nav before now because, like

Yvette, he knew their main hope lay in running as fast as possible. But now that they

were momentarily out of danger, there were a few things he wanted to know.

"I want to thank you for saving both our lives, of course," he began, "but I have to know

what in the Galaxy you were doing out there."

"I don't suppose you'd believe I was just in the neighborhood and saw your light," Nav

said, flashing an ingenuous smile. Jules did not react, and Nav's smile faded. "Khorosho,

I'll tell you the truth. I was getting a little tired of this planet and I wanted to be moving

on. Some of my Gypsy heritage, I guess. I was outside the spaceport field, trying to

decide how best to get in, when all of a sudden everything in there exploded. I saw the

two of you in trouble, and thought I'd help."

"Just out of the goodness of your heart, is that it?" Jules sneered.

"It was mostly for your sister's sake," the gambler shot back. "I feel a great deal of . . .

well, interest in her welfare."

Jules snorted and Yvette looked sadly away so that Nav would not see the look in her

eyes.

"What is it with you two? I've just saved your lives and instead of being grateful, you start

criticizing me. Has it occurred to you that I'm now in a good deal of trouble too, because

of that? What do you expect from me?"

Jules looked him straight in the eye. "How about a little truth for a change?"

It was the Newforester's turn to avert his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that your name is not really Pias Nav," Jules began. "The initials on your

handkerchief are PB."

"I have a lot of enemies. Necessity sometimes requires . . ."

"And I saw what you did to Rowe Carnery." Jules's voice was icy cold as he uttered

those words.

A silence hung in the air for ten seconds. The muscles in Nav's throat tightened, and his

fists clenched and unclenched several times. Finally he turned his back on the two of

them. "I don't owe any explanations to a couple of cat burglars," he said harshly.

Yvette reached out, grabbed him by one arm and spun him around to face her. Backing

him up against the wall, she said, "What about me? Do you owe an explanation to me?"

The two of them stood there, frozen, for what seemed like seven eternities. Their eyes

were locked, the expressions on their faces were totally unreadable. It was Nav who

backed down first. His shoulders sagged and he stared down at his feet. "Khorosho,

Yarmilla," he said in a voice not much above a whisper. "Just for you."

He seated himself on the edge of a trash bin. "You're right about my name-half right, at

least. My first name is Pias, but the last name is Belville. I am indeed from Newforest,

but until a couple of years ago I wasn't primarily a gambler. I might never even have left

Newforest if it weren't for Rowe Carnery.

"I was engaged at the time to a beautiful girl named Mini. I won't bore you by telling you

how much I loved her; it was a lot. Miri was returning to Newforest after visiting Append.

She had a considerable fortune in jewels along with her, which she kept in a personal

safe that had been specially installed in her cabin. She was the only person aboard who

knew how to open it.

"Pirates boarded her ship just before it reached Newforest. They knew they had less

than an hour to make their haul before entering Newforest's space and risking an

encounter with the Imperial Navy. They killed the captain outright when he swore he

didn't know how to open the safe. Miri wasn't so lucky.

"They . . . questioned her; that's the kindest way I can put it. Mid always was a stubborn

woman; she refused to talk. The pirates were in a hurry, and they used very crude but

painful tortures. Eventually they had to give up and flee when the Navy boarded the ship,

and Miri still had her jewels-for all the good they did her."

The Newforester's fists were clenched, his eyes tightly closed. His breathing was jagged,

and it seemed an effort to speak. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

"I couldn't begin to describe what was done to her. It was horrible. They took her back to

a hospital on Newforest and wouldn't let me see her until they'd cleaned up the worst of

the blood, but even so ... even so . . ." He choked on the words and had to pause for a

few minutes until he could get himself more under control.

"She took three days dying. I was beside her almost all the time. I didn't eat anything. I

drank occasional glasses of some liquid they put into my hand, but I don't know what it

was. They had her doped up to her earlobes with painkillers, but they couldn't ease the

agony in her mind. Every time I looked into her eyes I could see the horror, the pain, the .

. ."

He broke down completely at this point and began sobbing. Instinctively, Yvette moved

over to him. She put her arms around him and held onto him tightly. Pias Belville buried

his face in her bosom and wept openly and unashamed for several minutes as Yvette

tenderly stroked his hair and made soft, cooing noises. Jules stood to one side, feeling

very much an intruder in this scene.

At length Belville pulled his head back. "I must apologize," he said hoarsely. "I've been

holding that in for so long, and now . . ."

"I understand," Yvette soothed. "Just go on with your story when you can."

Belville wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, and after a few seconds got his voice under

control. "She did have a few lucid moments, and she described the pirate leader fairly

well. She mentioned a pendant he wore on a silver chain around his neck; she described

it in detail. After she . . . she died, I swore to avenge her death. Remember, I told you

we've very protective of our women on Newforest. This pirate had committed an un-

pardonable sin and caused immense suffering and death to someone I loved. I dedicated

my life to returning the favor.

"I left my home and started tracking down this monster on my own. It didn't take me long

to learn his name-Rowe Cannery-but getting close to him was another matter. I adopted

the personality of Pias Nav, itinerant gambler and layabout; it suited my personality

anyway, and I found that people would talk more openly to me if I appeared to be part of

their milieu.

"Cannery moved around a lot from planet to planet, which was one reason why he was

so hard to catch. I tracked right along after him, without his ever knowing I was on his

trail. Finally we got to Cordoba; just when I was about to close in, he opted to come here

to Sanctuary. I had no choice but to come along. I didn't dare kill him aboard the ship;

there would have been too few suspects, and I would probably have been found out.

Here there were a lot more people, and I had a better chance to escape undetected." He

paused and looked straight at Jules. "But I swear to you, Carnery was the only person

I've ever killed in my entire life. I don't regret it, either. Nothing can make me feel sorry

for what I did to that bastard-not after the butcher job he did on Miri."

"Wait a minute," Jules said. "You told us aboard ship that you killed someone on

Cordoba and had to get off the planet in a hurry. That was why you came to Sanctuary."

Belville smiled sheepishly. "I lied, there. When I found that Carnery was coming to

Sanctuary, I knew I'd have to get myself into some trouble before I'd be allowed along. I

followed a pair of blasterbats who worked for one casino owner, and watched them kill

someone who'd welched on a bet. Then I framed myself for the murder, leaving my

fingerprints and enough clues that the police would think I'd done it. That was my creden-

tial to get aboard. I've told you so many lies in the past you may not believe what I've just

said, but it's the truth, I swear it."

Yvette looked at him solemnly. "I believe it." Then she turned to her brother. The

expression on her face dared him to contradict her.

Jules took his time deciding. Belville's explanation was a logical one. It explained the

murder, the expression on the Newforester's face in Carnery's cabin, and all the other

discrepancies in the man's behavior. The emotional outburst Belville had just displayed

was genuine, Jules was sure of that. And while he could not condone Carnery's murder in

so grotesque and bloody a fashion, Jules could not exactly condemn Belville for it either;

under those circumstances, he might have done the same thing himself. He imagined

someone doing that to his own fiancee, Vonnie Roumenier, and he shivered.

Besides, Belville had risked his own life to save theirs. That ought to count for something.

"Khorosho," Jules nodded, "I believe you."

"There's something I'd like to get clear myself," Belville said. "Now that we've gotten my

identity straightened around, what about yours? From all the things you've been doing,

from this terrible grilling you've been putting me through, I have the definite feeling the

two of you are not just burglars."

"We are the cat burglars the police on Cordoba were looking for," Yvette said, hedging

the issue.

"But that's not your full occupation, is it?"

Jules had to hand it to Belville; the man was no fool. "I'm afraid we can't say anything

more about it for the time being."

Belville looked to Yvette, who just shook her head. "Please don't ask," she said.

The Newforester shrugged his shoulders. "Then for the moment I'm a gambler and you're

a pair of cat burglars-and all of us are running in fear of our lives. We can't sit here too

much longer without being discovered, so I presume we must either make some plans to

hide or get ourselves off this planet as soon as possible."

Yvette shook her head. "There's something else we have to do before we can leave. A

friend of ours is in trouble."

"Yes, I saw her with you for a while during your fight."

"We have to either bring her with us or know for a fact that she's dead."

Belville gave a low whistle. "That's going to take some doing. You don't happen to have a

small army tucked in your pockets, do you?"

Jules put a hand on the other man's shoulder. "This isn't your fight, you know. You've

already done more for us than we have any right to expect. You're free to walk away

and take your chances on your own."

Belville shook his head. "It's too late for that now. The guards will think I'm with you, so

they'll be hunting me just as strenuously. Our fates are linked together for better or

worse," he said, looking particularly at Yvette. Then, with a wry grin, he added, "Till

death do us part, apparently."

"Welcome to our team, then," Jules said, and got down to business. "The odds are that

they'll be keeping Hel . . . our friend at the safest place they've got, which will be their

headquarters. They know we'll be coming after her, so they can set up their defenses as

tightly as they know how."

"Do you have any idea where their headquarters is?" Belville asked.

"We think so," Yvette replied. "The address we were given is 666 Crowley Drive. That

should be the first place we check."

"I agree," Jules said. "And we'd better do it soon, because we won't stand any chance if

they catch us flatfooted in this alley. Our best hope lies in being mobile, so let's get

moving."

CHAPTER 11

Playing With Fire

Garst was literally stunned by the gold mine of information be was able to extract from

the hapless Helena. The more he probed, the more he learned about the innermost

secrets of the Service of the Empire. It made him respect SOTE even more than he

had-and it made him hungry to start some plans of his own.

Imagine using the Circus of the Galaxy to get your best agents onto any planet you

wished, he thought. The talents of the d'Alembert family must be incredible and

particularly this Jules and Yvette. No wonder they've behaved so spectacularly. But

they're not invincible. I f I hadn't acted so foolishly I could have killed them earlier

tonight.

But it was no matter, he knew. As long as he had the von Wilmenhorst woman, they

would come to him. They would pick their own particular time, but he could choose the

battleground for this particular fight-and it would be here, in the nerve center of his entire

operation, where he was surrounded by guards and foolproof defenses. Let them come,

he was ready for them.

Helena was slumped over in her chair after nearly two hours of fruitful interrogation. She

was in a coma that would last for at least twenty hours. This was the last stage of the

effects of nitrobarb. Either she would emerge from her coma at the end of that period or

she would slip into a quiet death. Garst hoped she would live-she might still have some

uses-but he would not shed any tears if she died.

He stood up from his own chair and stretched his legs, which were stiff from sitting so

long. He had important things to think about. Although Lady A had told him her

organization knew virtually everything SOTE did, he had strong doubts that she knew

about the d'Alemberts and the Circus. According to Helena, that information was so

secret that it had never been written down or put into computer records; it went purely by

word of mouth, and only a few top people in SOTS-plus, of course, the Imperial

Family-were privy to that information.

This meant he held a vital key that the others didn't even know existed. Knowledge, he

knew, is power. By rights, he should have placed a call immediately to Earth to alert

Lady A of his new findings. He didn't have her exact corn number; he would, as always,

have to leave a message with an impersonal machine and she would call him back at her

convenience. That, she said, was so that if he were captured he wouldn't be able to lead

anyone to her. He suspected, though, that she also wished to maintain the social

distance between them; familiarity, so the theory went, bred contempt.

But, as the thought of Lady A fled through his mind, he knew he was not going to tell her

of his discovery. If she was going to keep secrets from him, it was only right that he

keep a few from her. There had to be some way he could capitalize on his new

knowledge, and it would only take him a little time to think of it.

But those were thoughts for the future. He forced his mind back to concentrate on the

here and now. Jules and Yvette d'Alembert were still loose somewhere on Sanctuary,

along with their mysterious ally whom even Helena didn't know. Three people, two of

whom were the top SOTE agents in the entire Galaxy and one of whom was a total

unknown. But even if his skills were somehow equal to the d'Alemberts-he certainly

couldn't be better-that still would leave them hopelessly outclassed. Even after the

debacle at the spaceport, Garst still had over a hundred guards in his security force.

That was more than enough to deal with only three people.

He buzzed the intercom for Rawling. When her face lit up in his screen, he asked,

"What's the guard deployment?"

"I've got a double shift working the port, a double shift standing sentry here in HQ and

the rest out on a search pattern."

"Pull in the search teams. Our friends will have to come to us if they want to get the girl,

which they do. We should concentrate rather than disperse our forces."

"Khorosho." Rawling jotted down the order on a piece of paper. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, take off all the exterior guards from this complex."

"Sir?" The security chief's tone was clearly dubious. "We don't want to discourage them;

we want them to come in. A good trap should be like a spiderweb-very easy to fly into

and very, very difficult to leave."

"Smooth, Sir. I'll get on it right away."

The d'Alemberts and their new ally made their way cautiously through the back streets of

the city toward the address Helena had given them. As she'd indicated, it was near the

spaceport, back in the direction from which they'd come. They met with no resistance as

they moved, a fact that made Jules distinctly edgy.

The building at that address was a low, flat white structure, flanked by several others just

like it. Its front was almost forty meters across, and it seemed to extend for hundreds of

meters away from the street. There was a chain link fence around the building only one

and a half meters high, and a yard five meters wide before the wall of the building. The

front facade was absolutely bare except for the numbers 666 right beside the door.

There was just the one portal, and it was only wide enough for one person at a time to

enter. There was no sign of any windows anywhere around the outside of the building.

"Getting in is going to be a bit of a problem," Jules said "We can't just walk in there one

by one; well be blasted where we stand, without a chance to fight back."

"Maybe there's a copier entrance on the roof," Belville suggested.

"Perhaps, but the area's so well lighted we'd never get across it without being spotted,"

Jules said.

"There's got to be more than that," Yvette spoke up. "What if there's an emergency?

There has to be some way of getting people into and out of there in large numbers,

otherwise the design is inefficient. And whoever planned this setup is far from inefficient."

"Well, I can't see anything that looks even remotely like that," Belville complained.

They were all silent for a moment as they strained their eyes against the darkness of

night to make out details on the building. Finally, Yvette spoke up again. "Speaking of

seeing things, we've been here for several days and I don't recall ever seeing any cars

like the one you rescued us in-nothing but those damned carts that only go fifteen

kilometers an hour. Where did you find that thing, anyway?"

"Some guards drove up in it and climbed out, leaving it empty and ready for the taking,"

Belville explained. "I don't know where they came from, and I wasn't about to question

that particular gift horse-not when it was needed so badly at the time."

"The streets aren't really built to accommodate them," said Jules. "It's pointless to use

sleek machines like those on the same avenues the carts are on; the carts would slow

them down to a crawl. Again, it would be inefficient."

"So," Yvette continued the line of reasoning, "there would have to be special roadways

where the black cars can travel by- themselves, unhindered."

"I haven't seen any trace of that," the Newforester pointed out.

"Exactly," exclaimed Yvette with enthusiasm. "Which means that they've been placed

where no one will see them."

"Underground?" Jules asked. Yvette nodded. "That's my guess."

"I can imagine it-a whole series of interconnected roads under the surface of the city

itself, radiating out like spokes from a wheel-probably with this headquarters building as

the hub." Jules was catching his sister's enthusiasm for this theory.

"With arcs crisscrossing the radii at intervals. And there would be nodes or special

access points to the surface, well disguised up here. That way a squad of guards could

be dispatched from headquarters to anyplace in the city in a matter of minutes and seem

to appear from nowhere."

"Is it possible to do all that underground?" Belville asked.

"You've obviously never been to Vesa or you wouldn't ask that question. That entire

moon is honeycombed under the surface with tunnels and caverns. The technology has

been in existence for centuries. Where have you been hiding?"

"Newforest," Belville said abashedly. "We're a bit provincial there, I'm told."

Jules was becoming impatient. "The best plan of at tack," he began, "is to ignore this

door. It's certain death to go in there. But with an underground labyrinth as complex as

theirs must be, they couldn't possibly guard all the routes at office. We'll find some way

to slip in."

"As soon as we find an entranceway to the underground system," Yvette pointed out.

"But even if we get in, they'll have a thick cordon of guards all around your friend," Belville

said. "We won't be able to penetrate that wall."

"We can take care of both problems at one and the same time," Jules said with

confidence. "I have a plan." Half an hour later, the alarm bells began ringing in the

security office and throughout the headquarters complex. Jinda Rawling flipped several

switches on her desktop console to find out what the cause was. At almost the same

instant, Garst buzzed for her on the intercom. She was perfectly capable of handling both

situations at once; even as she continued to seek the information, she was responding to

her boss. "Yes, sir?" "What in hell is happening?"

"Just a second, sir." The information came through as she was speaking. "Let's see-fires

have broken out in three different apartment buildings, all widely scattered."

"Three, eh? That's a very convenient number. It looks like our friends are trying their

hands at arson as well as mayhem."

"Yes, sir. I'll send out the fire units." "No."

"But sir . . ."

"We can't send out anyone. That's what they want us to do, dilute our forces down here

so they can attack. We have to remain strong if we're going to win."

"But the clients . . ."

"Will just have to take care of themselves. This is far more important."

Rawling snapped off with a bitter "Yes, sir" and broke the intercom circuit. She didn't

know what to think, except that it was very obvious her superior had a monomania on the

subject of those agents out there.

Fifteen minutes later, three more fires started. Then three more. Then three more.

Rawling buzzed Garst's office. "Sir, we've got to do something about those fires."

"Absolutely not; We cannot weaken security at headquarters."

Rawling lost her temper. "Begging your pardon, sir," she said in a cold fury, "but what in

hell good does it do to protect headquarters if the whole drapping city burns to the

ground?"

"We need to make those agents come to us and we need to stop them dead. It's vitally

important."

"Please tell me what's so important. I'm dying to know."

Garst did not dare confide in the woman that he knew these agents were SOTE's top

operatives; he knew she would tell Lady A at the first opportunity, and his monopoly on

the knowledge would evaporate. "The deaths of those people will be, in the long run, far

more important than a dozen Sanctuaries."

"But why, sir?" Rawling reiterated.

It was Garst's turn to lose his temper. "Because I gave you a direct order, that's why. If

you won't obey it, IT find someone who will." And he clicked off the intercom.

The security chief sat staring at the blank screen for thirty seconds, trying to make some

sense out of her boss's orders. She finally came to the conclusion that they made no

sense; on the subject of those SOTE agents, her boss was simply not sane. He could

not make an objective decision. No three people could be special enough to risk the

destruction of an entire city in order to ensure their deaths.

I was hired to be security chief of this entire planet, she thought. It would be a betrayal

of my responsibility to let the city be burned to the ground on the whims of a madman.

She had disobeyed a direct order earlier that evening, and had saved the day because of

it; it looked as though she would have to do the same thing again.

Reaching for her microphone, she broadcast orders to her troops. Two squads were to

remain on duty in central, with orders to kill the intruders on sight. One shift was to

remain on duty at the port. The rest of her people were to take the fire-fighting

equipment and go out to battle the blazes that were erupting all over the city.

As an afterthought, she decided to go out on the guard lines herself, so that she would

be away from her desk and Garst couldn't reach her as easily. As far as she was

concerned, the man-who had proven himself quite capable before today-had suddenly

turned into a raging creature of unreason. She made a mental note to report his behavior

to Lady A at the first opportunity.

Two squads should be perfectly capable of defending this place against three people,

she thought as she strapped on her blaster and strode rapidly out of the office.

Up on the surface, pandemonium would have been too gentle a word to describe what

was happening.

The fires started by the d'Alemberts and Pias Belville were all in residential apartments,

where the majority of Sanctuary's inhabitants could be found at this time of night. While

the buildings did have automatic machinery to take care of small fires, the d'Alemberts

had been trained in some tricks of the incendiary trade, and were able to quickly explain

them to their ally. As a result, these fires were stubborn ones, and would not be quelled

by automatic machinery. Soon whole buildings were ablaze, and the residents were

fleeing to the streets for their lives.

When no guards appeared to fight the fires, more were set, and still more. "They have to

come out sometime," Jules reasoned, "or they won't have anything left to defend."

Other buildings near the torched ones also caught fire and within an hour it seemed as

though half the city were ablaze. The "citizenry" of Sanctuary milled about in the streets;

no procedure had ever been established whereby they could call for help, and they were

totally mystified that the people responsible for their welfare were not doing anything to

assist them. Their confusion quickly turned to anger and resentment; they had paid

enormous sums of money to come here, and now they were endangered for no apparent

reason. The subliminal tension of Sanctuary was rapidly rising to the surface.

Jules and Yvette decided to help the chaos along by running through the mob and yelling,

"Why won't they help us? We paid them, why don't they protect us from things like this?"

That tactic seemed to work even better than they had expected. The two supersiblings

conferred for a moment and agreed that this was a diversion that should be used to the

fullest advantage. They looked for, and eventually found, Pias Belville and explained their

plan to him.

"Let's really give the guards something to worry about," Yvette said, having to shout to

be heard above the din in the streets. "You're good with words, and the authorities never

really got a good look at you as our helper. You stir the people up and lead them in an

attack against the headquarters building on the surface level. They won't shoot you on

sight like they would us. While we're working on the underground levels, you can keep

them busy up top."

"Confusion to our "enemies," Pias nodded with a smile.

Yvette touched him lightly on the arm. "Don't be in the front lines yourself," she added

privately. "It's beginning to look as though we might survive this escapade after all, and

I'd hate to have you be one of the casualties."

"Don't worry, I'm a confirmed coward," he said. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and

raced off to begin his new task.

Jules watched him go. "We need more cowards like that," he said, mostly to himself.

Yvette heard him, though, and smiled inwardly.

The guards began arriving several minutes later. They were quite surprised to discover

that they had to contend with not just the fires, but with the irate citizens as well. As they

tried to maneuver their equipment into position to fight the flames, they found themselves

pelted with rocks, pieces of rubble and any other loose objects the angry inhabitants

could find. Pias was doing his job well, feeding the fires of resentment and stirring the

crowd to a fever pitch. When he suggested an attack on headquarters itself, it became a

battle cry that echoed through the streets of Sanctuary.

Yvette and Jules, meanwhile, were paying very close attention to the guards. The

firefighting equipment was big and bulky, and had to be moved slowly into position.

Consequently, the d'Alemberts were able to trace easily where the machines were

coming from. There were big structures that looked like office buildings from the front,

but were actually just false facades; the entire back end could swing out to allow cars,

people or firetrucks to pass through.

The two superagents waited near one of these entrances until all the personnel and

equipment had emerged. As the large door slid automatically shut, they dodged inside

unseen and found themselves at the top of a broad ramp. The slope at their feet went

down for fifteen meters before leveling off into a wide, well lit corridor.

There were three of the long black cars parked at the foot of the ramp, and two men

stood guard over them. It was obvious they were not expecting any trouble they were

talking casually to one another, not even. looking in the direction of the ramp. Their

blasters were tucked securely into their holsters.

Jules and Yvette slipped down the ramp quietly, hugging tightly against the wall to attract

minimum attention. By the time one of the guards happened to look up and see their

movement, it was far too late for him or his partner to do anything about it.

Two flying DesPlainian forms came at them before they could even reach for their guns.

Yvette's victim got a simple blow to the chin knocking him unconscious; Jules's took a

little more persuading. A knee to the breadbasket and an open-handed chop to the

throat, however, put him out of commission.

The agents scrambled into the nearest car, with Jules in the driver's seat. The car surged

ahead down the high-ceilinged corridor toward the headquarters building-and the agents'

last chance to rescue Helena.

CHAPTER 12

Sortie On Sanctuary

They encountered no opposition as they rode along but then, they had expected none. All

free hands would doubtless be busy battling both the blaze and the rioters overhead. The

core guard group would be closely clustered around command central.

Jules drove until he could see a major terminal coming up about a hundred meters further

on. Stopping the car, he said, "I think we'd better walk from here. We'll have less

protection but more mobility."

Yvette concurred and got out of the car. Together the two agents loped down the

corridor at a deceptively fast pace until they came to the edge of an intersection. There,

under a large vaulted dome, was a wide wooden doorway with three guards standing in

front of it and a guard on either side encased in a blaster-proof booth. The booths were

mounted with external weapons so that the sentries inside could fire out without being

vulnerable themselves.

"We could cut down the three at the door from here," Yvette whispered, "but those two

in the booths are going to be a problem. We can't get at them."

"We don't have to get at them," Jules responded. "We just have to get by them. Let's go

back to the car, I've got an idea."

They jogged back down the corridor to their vehicle.

As they climbed inside, Jules said, "You take care of the three front guards, then hold on

tight."

He backed the car down the tunnel for half a kilometer to allow him room to build up

speed. Then, with full acceleration, he gunned the car forward toward the headquarter

entrance.

They burst into the cavern at a speed in excess of a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour.

They were on top of the guards before the latter knew what was happening. It took all

the speed of Yvette's DesPlainian reflexes to fire at her targets in so short a time-but fire

she did. All three of the exterior guards fell to the ground, victims of her deadly blaster.

Jules made no attempt to decelerate. With the car moving as quickly as he could make

it, they rammed full tilt into the front doors of the entranceway. The crash jolted both of

them down to the base of their teeth, but they were prepared for it and were properly

braced: The massive machine hit the heavy doors and went through them as though they

were made of cheap plywood. The car stalled and died completely as it shattered the

portals, but it had accomplished the task Jules had set for it.

Quickly the two agents climbed out the doors and picked their way forward over the

crumpled hood of the car. The beam-proof booths in which the two guards were

stationed had not been designed to be defended from the rear, and the guards inside

knew it. They had personal blasters of their own, but not enough time to use them as the

d'Alemberts split and came after them at inconceivable speeds. Rather than killing the

guards with their blasters, Jules and Yvette chose independently of one another-to

merely incapacitate them. With the swiftness of their reflexes, they were able to knock

the guards unconscious with a single powerful blow apiece.

The breaking in of the doors had started alarm bells ringing all through the underground

complex, but it would take several seconds for the rest of the security staff to realize

what sector the danger was coming from and to mobilize their defenses. These were

seconds that the d'Alemberts could-and did-use to their utmost advantage. The hallway

that stretched before them was seventy meters long; they covered the distance in about

five seconds, and met with no opposition in that time. There were some more closed

doors at the end, but no guards stood outside. To Jules and Yvette, that only meant that

the guards were inside the door, waiting for them.

The doors were constructed to open outward, toward them. Relying on the swiftness of

their reflexes to give them an edge over anyone" inside, the two agents yanked the doors

outward and raced inside. There, they found five more guards waiting for them. The

defenders all had their weapons drawn and prepared to fire, but the pair of DesPlainian

hurricanes did not offer easy targets.

Yvette knocked out one guard, a woman, with a solid punch to the jaw, then went after a

second. Jules, meanwhile, had picked up one man and hurled him bodily at another

opponent. The force of the impact as the two collided left them both panting deeply on

the floor, unable to take part in further action for some time to come. If Jules had had a

stun-gun with him instead of a blaster, he would have shot the two to keep them out of

commission for a while; but the thought of slaughtering the two helpless guards-even

though he knew they'd do it to him if they had a chance-was repugnant to him. By the

time they could recover sufficiently to be any threat to him, the battle would probably be

decided anyway, so he left them as they were and concentrated on the rest of the

opposition.

Yvette had planted one fist solidly in the stomach of a fourth guard and, as he doubled

over, she used her other fist to make sure he gave her no further trouble. She whirled

around, looking for the fifth person who had been standing guard inside the door, and

found herself staring down the barrel of a powerful blaster.

Before that weapon could be fired, however, Jules swung into action. His right foot

kicked out in one rapid motion and knocked the weapon forcefully out of the hand of the

woman aiming it at his sister. The momentum of his leap brought him down on his left

foot in front of the woman. He made a complete spin around and was prepared to knock

her out totally when he noticed an insignia on her uniform indicating that she was the chief

security officer. She could be more useful to them awake than unconscious. So instead

he altered his motion and grabbed her around the neck in the crook of his right elbow.

The woman-whose name, Rawling, was stenciled above her left breast-knew how to

handle herself. Instinctively she gave Jules a judo flip that sent him flying across the

room. But that left her in an exposed position, and Yvette finished her off with an

open-handed blow to the kidneys that- left the security chief gasping and retching on the

floor of the corridor.

Jules fell perfectly and rolled to his feet, only to find that his sister had taken care of the

menace. From the grin Yvette shot him, he knew it would take him a while to live down

the fact that he'd let himself be thrown like a novice instead of blocking the move like an

experienced professional. But not a word was said now; there was still too much danger,

and too much to do.

He ran back to the gagging woman, grabbed her by the top of her hair and yanked her

roughly to her feet. "You're holding a friend of ours," he said. "We want her back."

"I . . . don't know what you're talking about," Rawling gasped.

Yvette grabbed the woman's arm and twisted it behind the security chief's back. "I've

noticed," she said, "that memory restoration is in direct proportion to pain applied. I can

break everything you've got unless you tell me."

"She's in . . . main office."

"That's a little better. Now, would you like to lead us there-notifying us, of course, of any

boobytraps along the way?" Yvette nodded to her brother as she spoke and Jules let go

of the woman's head.

Rawling nearly fell, but managed to catch herself and maintain some of her dignity. Her

throat was still sore and she was choking, but she was able to glare defiantly at her two

captors, each of whom had a blaster trained directly on her. "You don't have a prayer,"

she said.

"Then that puts us in good company with you. I'm told that a person can still walk and

talk with a missing left arm, so if you want to keep yours you can start moving. Now!"

Yvette's tone of voice left no room for argument.

Rawling had little choice but to comply. She was a wise enough woman to realize that

anything was preferable to the certain death she would face at the hands of these two

DesPlainians if she should disobey them. Even if this entire organization were broken up

and she was forced to stand trial, her own crimes were not major enough to merit a

serious sentence. Better to play the odds and hope for a chance to make her break lat-

er. "All right," she gritted. "This way."

From a doorway further on, three more guards emerged, guns drawn. They saw the

d'Alemberts, whom they'd been ordered to kill on sight, and their first impulse was to fire;

but then they saw their chief standing in front of the targets, and they were not sure what

to do. As they stood there hesitating, Jules said quietly to Rawling, "We don't enjoy killing

people. This doesn't have to be a bloodbath. The choice is yours."

Just then they heard a loud noise over their beads, and the sound of a low roar and lots

of scuffling. "Sounds like the reinforcements," Yvette commented, adding for Rawling's

benefit, "We invited a few more people to join the party. Your guards could really spend

their time better by seeing that the rioters don't get out of hand."

The security chief had no desire to die in a crossfire. "Keep the people in line upstairs,"

she snapped at her men. "That's an order." The guards were obviously hesitant about

leaving their leader in such a predicament, but there was nothing else they could do to

help her. Besides, their help was needed upstairs to cope with the swarms of rioters who

were currently rampaging through the corridors. Silently, they turned and left, and the

d'Alemberts breathed a mutual sigh of relief that their captive was a reasonable woman.

"Now," Yvette said to Rawling, "I believe you were about to take us somewhere."

The uniformed woman led them down the hall to one particular door, then stepped

through. The other two followed after her. Rawling had tried to use the opportunity to run

away, but a blast from Yvette's gun landing just centimeters in front of her feet brought

her to a screeching halt. "Not quite so fast," Yvette said. "We'd like to keep up with you."

Rawling waited until the pair caught up with her, then continued.

She led them down a maze of hallways, and the d'Alemberts realized how lucky they'd

been to capture her. It might have taken them forever to find their way through this

labyrinth unassisted.

A couple of times they ran into more of Rawling's guards, but each time the security chief

was able to or der the men upstairs to quell the riot. From the sounds that were

emanating over their heads, the guards were having a singular lack of success. Pias

Belville was performing his job admirably well.

They came to one door and Rawling hesitated as she reached for the knob. "Go ahead,"

Jules said. "You go first."

"I can't," the woman said. "That room is boobytrapped."

"How?"

"The knob is wired for electricity-and even if it should be opened, a blaster is trained on

the door and kills anyone standing in front of it."

"Can't it be turned off?" Yvette asked. "Yes, but I don't have the key. Garst does."

Garst? That was the first time the SOTE operatives had heard that name in connection

with this case. Jules looked at his sister, and saw a shocked expression on her face.

"Then Garst is in charge of this place?" he asked Rawling.

"Yes, for the past three months."

Jules was confused; he was sure he'd seen the head of the Vesan murder ring fall into a

recycling vat and die. His sister also appeared puzzled, but an expression was beginning

to form on her face that Jules had seen there only once before-when she had stood at

the door to the vat, looking down into the seething chemicals. It was a mixture of honor,

hatred, anger, and . . . what? Jules doubted even Yvette knew for certain what she was

feeling.

Evidently, though, Garst had somehow survived that ordeal and come here secretly, to

head up this new criminal endeavor. Jules put aside such speculations as hopeless; right

now, the time was for action. In particular, he had to drag his sister out of the morass of

emotions she was experiencing. Later, when this whole affair was over, they could

wonder how Garst got here. It was only important now that he was here.

"Is there any way to get through other than this door?" Jules asked their captive.

Rawling shook her head. "Not on this level. You'd have to go all the way up to the

surface and go around to the other side."

"And by that time," Jules reasoned, "anything could happen. All right, stand back-we'll

see how effective this boobytrap is."

The three of them stood well to either side, and the two agents focused their blasters on

the hinges of the wooden door. The metal hardware began to melt under the constant

searing heat and, after a minute, the door fell in of its own weight. The falling of the door

broke an electrical connection, and suddenly a continuous blaster beam flashed out

through the opening, waist-high. Anyone standing in the doorway would have been sliced

in half.

"Looks passable to me," Jules commented after studying the setup for a moment.

"Khorosho, Rawling, after you."

"But I can't walk through that, I'll be killed." "Nobody    said `walk,' " , Yvette  spoke

  up.         "You should be able to crawl on your belly very nicely under that beam.

Unless, of course, the floor in there is charged, too."

"Not . . . not that I know of."

"Well, you'll find out, won't you? Go ahead."

Under the threat of the d'Alembert guns, Rawling got down on her stomach and crawled

forward into the room. She crept over the fallen door and then, with great trepidation, put

a hand down on the floor. Nothing happened, so she crawled forward with more confi-

dence toward the door at the far end of the room. Jules and Yvette, seeing her go

unharmed, got down and followed after her.

Rawling reached the other side and pushed the door open; the knob on that one,

apparently, was not boobytrapped. As she entered the open corridor, she stood up and

looked behind her. Jules and Yvette were still down on their stomachs, which gave her

the perfect chance to escape. Without another instant's hesitation, she turned to the right

and ran off as fast as she could. Jules fired his blaster at her, but she was out of the

doorway long before the beam would have hit.

"Damn," he exclaimed as he pulled himself through the doorway. Rawling was already

too far down the ball; she would have been out of his blaster range, and he didn't even

try. "There goes our guide and passport."

"You'd better go after her," Yvette said, pulling herself out of the deadly room, too, and

standing up. "She could rally her men and bring them down here after us."

"What about you?"

Yvette set her jaw. "I'm going after Garst," she said firmly. "He and I have an outstanding

debt to settle." Jules nodded. He knew that neither he nor any force in the Universe

would come between herself and Garst now that she was again on the scent. "Smooth

but be careful which doors you open." Then he took off to the right after the fleeing

security chief.

Yvette stood in the hallway for a moment, her mind racing in a coldly calculating manner.

Rawling would run in the direction away from Garst's office, to draw us off, she

reasoned. His room must be to the left. And she started out in the opposite direction

from her brother.

The hallway made a turn to the right, and Yvette found herself in a corridor that led to a

dead end a hundred meters away. On her right were five doors. One of them would have

to be the correct one, but there was no way of guessing which. She would have to try all

of them.

The first door was not boobytrapped, and showed a glimpse inside of a command

center. Security Central, Yvette decided. There was no one there at present; Rawling

must have deserted her post for some reason to serve on the front lines. Perhaps they

were desperate for manpower. At any event, a quick skim showed Yvette that there was

nothing in here to interest her. She continued on.

The second door turned out to be boobytrapped the same way the other room had been;

when Yvette blew the door in, a blaster beam came slicing out, aimed at anyone

standing in front of the door. She crawled under the beam and looked around inside the

room, but it was empty.

The third door was free of traps, and led to a well-appointed private apartment. This

must be where Garst lives, the agent thought as she padded quietly through the flat. She

looked everywhere, but there was no sign of the apartment's inhabitant so she went

outside to the hallway to try again.

As the next doorway fell before her blaster, she caught sight of Helena slumped in a

chair against the far wall. She raced into the room with her gun drawn, ready to blast

down anyone who moved.

Her passage across the threshold tripped an electric eye beam, which released a heavy

deadfall from over her head. Any normal person would have been crushed under the

weight of the massive block of metal as it came crashing down-but Yvette d'Alembert

was not precisely a normal person. The gravitational pull on Sanctuary was

approximately Earth normal, which meant that the deadfall dropped with an acceleration

of one gee. Yvette came from a world where objects fell at three times that rate, and

could react accordingly. She sensed the deadfall coming at her and leaped aside; the

massive weight grazed her shoulder enough to wrench it and send pain all through her

left side-but she was far from dead.

Yvette hit the floor, rolled, got to her knees and looked around the room. There was

Garst, cowering in one comer, blaster in hand. He was pointing it at the spot where she'd

fallen, but she was not there any more.

Hastily he tried to readjust his aim, but his reflexes were no match for hers. Yvette's

blaster beam lashed out and found its intended mark--Garst's face. The archcriminal let

out an abortive scream as the blaster burned almost instantly through his skull, searing

skin, bone and brain tissue along its route.

Garst was dead almost immediately, but still Yvette did not stop firing. Slowly,

meticulously, she ran her fiery beam up and down the length of Garst's body, charring it

until the air inside the room reeked of burned human flesh. "That's for Dak," she muttered

under her breath. "That's for a quarter of a million people, but mostly for Dak, you utter,

complete bastard. I hate you!"

The process continued for some minutes, until all that was left of the criminal mastermind

was a charred lump that was even unrecognizable as having been a human being. Finally,

the anger drained from her body, Yvette took her finger off the trigger and lowered the

gun. Her entire body was shaking, and it took a second to bring her eyes back into focus.

Not until then did she remember the real purpose for her coming here, and she turned

back to look at Helena.

The Head's daughter was unconscious. Her eyes were bloodshot, her pulse ragged and,

when Yvette quickly rolled up the girl's sleeves, the veins were standing out grotesquely

on the inside of Helena's arms. Yvette, with her specialized training, recognized those

symptoms easily-the aftereffects of a dose of nitrobarb.

It would be risky moving Helena at all while she was suffering from this condition. Grimly,

Yvette pulled up a chair beside Helena's and waited for Jules to arrive.

CHAPTER 13

Explosive Results

When Rawling went running down the hallway, she knew she'd be in for the race of her

life. DesPlainians were well noted for their speed, and one or both of her captors would

be after her in a matter of seconds. They dared not let her run loose.

The best advantage she had was that she knew the layout of this complex and they did

not. She was unarmed at the moment and there weren't any more of the boobytrapped

rooms in this direction, but perhaps she would be able to find one of her guards who was

not busy fighting the mob upstairs. Failing that, she would have to get to the armory and

find a new weapon. She knew that her first judo throw of that one agent had been a

fluke, and she had no desire to test her skills further in hand-to-hand fighting with an

obviously accomplished professional. Besides, he had a gun and would not hesitate to

use it.

She arrived at the door to the armory, but it was locked. She had a key, but it was

buried deep in one of her pockets and she could not afford the precious seconds it would

take to dig it out. Already she thought she could hear a set of footsteps racing down the

corridors after her. After pausing barely long enough to take a deep breath, she ran on.

Turning a comer rapidly, she ran full tilt into another heavy-grav male, dressed as a

dandy complete with cape, hat and rose. They were both knocked to the ground by the

surprise impact but Rawling, her reflexes aided by the surges of adrenalin being pumped

through her bloodstream, recovered her wits a fraction of a second before the man.

She lashed out with her foot, and the kick caught Pias Belville just under the jaw. His

head snapped backward against the floor, and his body went limp. The security chief

scrambled to her feet and picked up the blaster the other had been carrying. She was

armed now, too-a fact unknown to her pursuer. She could use that to her advantage.

Within seconds he would come racing around that same comer after her. He would be

holding his blaster at the ready but, even with his quick instincts, he would not be able to

fire before she could.

She set the beam of her captured gun on its broadest width, so that she could hardly

miss hitting something. The initial hit would be at a less-than-deadly intensity, but it would

so wound her pursuer that she would have the time to finish him off. Backing into a

doorway, she focused every iota of her attention on the mouth of the corridor and

waited.

Jules was running as silently as he could, but even so his footsteps echoed hollowly

down the otherwise empty halls. Rawling could estimate his approach with reasonable

precision, while he had no way of knowing she was lying in ambush for him. As he came

around the corner, he instantly spotted her standing in front of him, her blaster up and

ready to shoot. He pointed his own gun, but he knew it would not be in time. Rawling had

gotten the drop on him.

Then, before either of those two could fire, a buzzing sound emanated from the floor of

the corridor. So intent had Rawling been on watching for Jules's appearance that she

had not bothered to watch the slow, careful motions of her supposedly disarmed and

unconscious victim of a few moments before. The security chief fell helplessly to the

ground.

As Jules allowed himself to bounce off the wall to slow his terrific momentum, Pias

Belville got slowly to his feet. In his right hand was a ministunner; his left hand was busy

stroking his bruised jaw tenderly. "She had quite a kick, that lady. I presume she was no

friend of yours."

Jules bent his head a moment and took some deep breaths. "No. And that's the second

time tonight you've saved my life."

Pias dismissed that with a gallant wave of his hand. "My pleasure. I'm just glad my pet

dog once taught me how to play dead-it's a trick that really comes in handy."

"Where did you find that thing?" Jules asked, pointing at the ministunner. He knew such

weaponry was not generally available here on Sanctuary.

"From here." The Newforester picked up his hat and, upon close inspection, Jules could

see that there was a small holster right behind the flower's blossom. The holster was

unnoticeable unless one knew precisely where to look. "Every rose must have its thorn,"

Pias continued blithely as he tucked the weapon away once more.

"You're not as helpless as you appear at first glance," Jules commented. The praise

came grudgingly from him.

"Thank you. Given a choice, I would prefer to have my enemies underestimate me. Much

safer that way. Where's your sister?"

"She went the other way, looking for our friend." He looked down at Rawling's

unconscious form. "How long will she be out?"

"The maximum setting for a mini like mine is five, which is what I gave her. She should be

out for six hours."

"Plenty of time, then," Jules nodded. "We can leave her here for now. Let's go back and

see if Yv . . . Yarmilla needs my help."

They started back at a fast jog in the direction from which Jules had come. Their pace

gave them a little more time to look at the scenery along the way. As they ran, Jules

suddenly came to a halt outside the door marked "Armory." "This looks interesting," he

said. "Let's have a look for a second."

The door was locked, but the two men did not let that stop them. Focusing both their

blasters on the door, they burned out the locking device and were able to push the

massive portal inward.

Inside the room they found enough weapons to supply a small army. There were blasters

of varying powers, from the lightweight hand models all the way up to the big heavy duty

ones mounted on mobile tripods. There were dozens of large boxes marked

"Explosives," along with all the peripheral detonation equipment. There were, it seemed,

several hundred suits of battle armor, both for land-based use and for space application:

Looking over the array of destructive capacity, Pias gave a low whistle. "They wanted to

be ready for anything, didn't they?"

"There's enough equipment here to repel any major attack," Jules confirmed. "Or to

launch an attack of their own. They could probably take a small agricultural planet with

this gear and a staff of well-trained people, if they timed their assault properly."

He ushered Pias out of the room again. "Let's go find my sister before we decide what to

make of all that. I have a hunch it may come in handy."

The two men continued down the hallway to the spot where Jules and Yvette had split

up. They then followed the path in the other direction, retracing Yvette's steps. They

went under the blaster beam that continued firing out of the one boobytrapped door and

came to the door that Yvette had intentionally left open. Jules peeked in cautiously. His

sister was watching the doorway, blaster in hand and looking very relieved that it was he

who had entered rather than some guards. Beside Yvette, looking pale and lifeless,

Helena's body was slumped in her chair.

"Is she all right?" Jules asked quickly.

"Nitrobarb." That one word summed up the situation. After a second, Yvette added, "I

killed Garst. There's no doubt about it, this time." Her voice sounded very tired and very

far away.

"Good." For a moment, Jules didn't know what else to say. Pias entered the room behind

him, and Yvette's expression picked up a little. Jules, taking heart from the change, said,

"What can we do? Can she be moved?"

"Not readily," Yvette replied. She'd had more formal training than her brother in the

effects of nitrobarb. "Her metabolism is in a precarious balance right now. Any sudden

changes in her condition could tip that balance the wrong way."

"How long do we have to wait?"

"Ten, twenty hours, depending on how long she's already been in coma. It's hard to tell,

exactly."

"I'm a newcomer to all this, I admit," Pias Belville spoke up, "but I honestly don't think we

can afford to wait that long. The rioters and guards are fighting it out upstairs right now,

which is fine for us-but that won't continue much longer. One side or the other will

emerge victorious, and the winner will be coming down here. Whichever side that is, I

don't want to be around when it happens."

"He's right," Jules sighed. "Whether it's safe or not, we'll have to move her out of here."

"But where?" Yvette asked. "We can't go carrying her out the way we came in-there are

too many guards, too many obstacles. We barely made it in here on our own; we'd never

get out alive carrying an essentially dead weight."

"We may not have to," Pias said. "I suspect there's another, more private way out of

here."

Jules clapped his hands together at the Newforester's revelation. "Of course! Garst

came from Vesa, a world of underground tunnels. His mentality was that of a crafty

burrowing animal-and most burrowing animals always leave themselves a back door in

case of attack."

Pias nodded. "My Gypsy ancestors back on Earth were always conscious of the need to

keep an escape route open. You never could tell when one would be needed." He

stroked his chin thoughtfully. "But where would there be on this planet to escape to? Not

back into the city, there would be too much chance of being spotted there. Possibly an

underground retreat outside the city where he had enough supplies stored to last out a

search."

Yvette shook her head. "I don't think so," she said, entering into the speculation game.

"Garst wasn't one to wait out trouble; we've already seen that when something goes

wrong he tries to get as far from the scene as he possibly can-and he doesn't stop

running until he's clear across the Galaxy."

"A ship," Jules said. "He'd have to have a ship of his own, all ready to take off in case of

trouble. And he'd have his own private tunnel to it, because in an emergency he couldn't

count on getting to the spaceport by the normal route. Let's search this room thoroughly;

I'm willing to bet we can find that tunnel."

With the three of them looking, they were able to cover the room quite thoroughly. They

found nothing the first time through, but on their second, closer inspection Jules found a

hidden drawer. Pulling it out, he discovered several dozen videotape reels, bookreels and

other records.

"Garst was always a thorough bookkeeper," Yvette commented. "His records on Vesa

were quite helpful. I suggest we take those with us when we go; I know someone who'll

be interested in seeing what's on them." Jules nodded and continued searching.

On their third time around the chamber, Yvette found what they were after. Her hand

pressed firmly over a row of seemingly decorative studs, and suddenly a portion of one

wall slid away, revealing a narrow corridor that did indeed lead out in the direction of the

spaceport. "Let's get going," Pias said.

"It's not quite that simple," Jules told him. "There are things that have to be planned first."

"What, for instance?"

"For instance," Yvette answered his question, "as soon as we get out into space, we'll

take some astrogational measurements and find out exactly where this place is. Then we

intend to call a friend of ours and have reinforcements sent in to shut Sanctuary down."

"That's a good idea," Pias nodded.

"But," the female d'Alembert continued, "as soon as the rioting calms down out there,

some people may realize what will be happening. They'll try to escape on some of the

ships that are sitting out there on the spaceport field right now. If we could think of some

way to destroy all those ships, the police could make a clean sweep when they come in

here."

"I know how to do it, too," Jules added. "They've got an armory stockpiled with plenty of

explosives and weapons-more than we'll need."

"Khorosho," Yvette said. "I'll carry our sleevine beauty out to the ship while you go back

and get the explosives. You'd better hurry, too-it'll be morning soon, which will make the

job that much harder."

The two men returned to the armory immediately. Pias admitted that he knew very little

about the exotic weaponry there, so Jules was left with the task of composing their

shopping list. He chose another blaster each for the three of them and two armloads of

explosives. Then he rigged up some more explosives on a timed fuse within the armory

itself. "This is to destroy their cache so they won't be able to mount much resistance

when the good guys show up," Jules explained to the puzzled Newforester.

Pias nodded slowly. There were obviously a great many more details to this business

than he himself would ever have imagined.

Then, carrying their loads of explosives, the two men raced back to Garst's main office

and down the secret tunnel to the ship, where they found Yvette and the unconscious

Helena waiting for them. "It's a simple craft," Yvette told them, "but it's likely to be

cramped-it's only a two-seater. Garst obviously wasn't planning to save too many people

besides himself."

They divided up the explosives, and the d'Alemberts gave their new friend a brief but

thorough course in demolitions. When they were through, they made him repeat the

instructions back to them twice to make sure he knew what he was doing. Then the trio

left Helena alone in Garst's getaway ship and went out to wreak their destruction.

There were ninety-six ships currently standing out on the port field, and only one shift of

ten guards to watch over them. Consequently, the three dark figures were able to move

stealthily at will through the early morning darkness and attach their explosive devices

unseen to the bottoms of the vessels. It took better than two hours to complete the

mission, and then they were to rendezvous back at Garst's ship.

Jules and Yvette arrived back before Pias. They had been able to work faster because

they were more familiar with the gear and, even though they had given him a smaller

share of the work, they'd finished before he had. Jules slipped into the pilot's chair and

began giving the ship a preflight checkout while Yvette stood in the hatchway and looked

out over the field, hoping to see some sign of the Newforester.

There was a flash and a loud roar from the headquarters complex over at one side of the

spaceport field. "There goes the armory," Jules commented without looking up from his

control board. "The rest of the fireworks should be starting any time now."

"I wish he'd get back," Yvette muttered under her breath.

The guards at the spaceport were quite perplexed about the explosion at headquarters,

and were not quite sure how to react to it. A couple of minutes later, however, a freighter

at the end of the field farthest from Garst's ship also blew up, scattering fragments for a

hundred meters around. That situation was clearly listed in their instructions-sabotage.

Within seconds of that explosion, floodlights came on all over the port, illuminating all but

the remotest corners of the field.

There, standing in open territory, was Pias Belville. He had apparently finished with his

final ship and was on his way back when the lights had caught him in an exposed

position. He was nearly three hundred meters away, and was the only figure out in the

middle of the field. The guards could not help but spot him.

"Pias!" Yvette exclaimed involuntarily, even though she knew he was too far away to hear

her.

Jules was beside her in an instant, looking the situation over. It took only a fraction of a

second to see what had happened and what needed to be done. "You stay here with

Helena," he said. "You're better trained to help her. I'll go out and get him." And, before

she could object, he was out the hatch and racing down the ladder as fast as he could

move.

Two more explosions shook the ground as a pair of ships blew up almost simultaneously.

Yvette could only stand helplessly in the hatchway as she watched the two men she

loved so dearly running toward one another. There were more explosions; once they

started, they seemed to go in strings like firecrackers.

The guards were totally confused by the chaos around them, but they knew that, if they

couldn't stop the sabotage, they could at least try to stop the saboteurs. The figures of

Jules and Pias were entirely too conspicuous on the otherwise deserted field, giving the

sentries an excellent opportunity for target practice.

Jules was only fifty meters away from Pias when the latter fell forward after a blaster

beam clipped his calf. Yvette gasped, and saw her brother redouble his efforts to reach

the Newforester before the guard could reaim his weapon. Pias lay motionless on the

ground, and Yvette's heart felt as though it had stopped completely. Does every man I

lave have to die because of Garst's machinations? she thought desperately. It isn't fair .

. . it just isn't f air!

Then Jules was beside Pias and dragging the other man to a position of temporary

safety behind a ship that wasn't scheduled to blow up for another couple of minutes. Pias

seemed conscious, and he and Jules conferred for a -moment on the state of the leg.

Jules helped the Newforester to his feet, and they tested to see whether the injured limb

could support Pias's full body weight. Pias was nodding, indicating he thought he could

make it on his own.

Jules let the other go ahead of him. Pias tried manfully to run, but the wound in his leg

tamed his gait into an off-balance shamble. Jules followed behind, gun drawn and ready

to pick off any guard who might attempt to snipe at the mari who had twice that evening

saved his life.

Every few seconds, it seemed, the ground was rocked by another explosion. Several

more fires had broken out around the area, but all the firefighting equipment was being

used in the city and there was nothing the guards could do to extinguish the blazes. The

thick black smoke that rapidly filled the morning air helped cover Jules and Pias as they

made their agonizing way back to the ship.

The two men at last reached the base of the ladder and started to climb up. Yvette took

her eyes off them ,now and started watching the field. This would be the moment of

maximum exposure, when the men would be helpless and perfect targets against the

smooth metal hull of the. ship. Yvette scrutinized the field, her gaze tracking back and

forth like a human radar. No one was going to kill her men if she had anything to say in

the matter.

A motion to the left caught her eye, and Yvette fired instinctively. The guard who was

about to shoot at the climbing figures was just at the limit of Yvette's range, and her

blaster bolt did not kill him, even though it struck dead center. The beam did, however,

produce enough of a heat jolt that it knocked the man backwards off his feet. It would

take him a couple of minutes to recover from that blow-and by the time he did, Jules and

Pias had made it inside the hatch. Yvette took the Newforester by the arm and led him

gently into the control cabin while Jules shut the hatch behind them and dogged it airtight.

"I'm going to need the acceleration couch to pilot this ship," Jules said as he passed by

his two conscious comrades to get to the controls. "Girl Friday will need the other to

protect her as much as possible from the effects of the acceleration. That doesn't leave

much space for you."

"How fast will you be taking off?" Pias asked. Yvette had already gotten the ship's small

first aid kit and was bandaging his leg. The blaster had taken a small chunk out of the

skin on his left thigh, but the wound was more painful than serious.

"No more than three gees," Yvette advised her brother. "Our other patient certainly

couldn't take more than that. As it is, we're having to depend awfully heavily on the fact

that she's young and in perfect health. Every time something new happens to her, it

reduces the chance of her survival still further."

"All right then," Jules agreed. "Nice and slow."

"In that case," Pias said, "Yarmilla and I can lie side by side on the back wall. At three

gees, it won't be any worse than lying on the ground back home."

Jules nodded and continued to set the controls, while outside on the field the other ships

continued to explode around them. After five minutes, he announced he was ready, and

Yvette and Pias braced themselves.

There was a dull whine as the ship's engines sprang to life under Jules's deft touch. The

whine progressed to a roar, and then suddenly they felt themselves pressed downward

by the upward thrust of the ship's acceleration. The pull of three gees was far from

painful; in fact, it produced a feeling of comfort the three of them had been missing for

quite some time.

Slowly, then, the little ship lifted itself into the skies. The three adventurers had done the

seemingly impossible-they had come to Sanctuary, accomplished their respective

tasks-and escaped alive to tell the tale.

CHAPTER 14

The Marquis of Newforest

The acceleration seemed to go on forever; because they were lifting off the world at

such a comparatively gentle pace, it took them a longer time to establish their preliminary

orbit. But eventually they made it, and Jules shut off the drive. Instantly they felt the

change from three gees to none and, even though Jules had warned them when to

expect it, it still came as a shock to their systems.

Yvette's first concern was for Helena. The Head's daughter was looking extremely pale

as Yvette swam hastily toward her and felt at her throat for a pulse. "Ragged, but there,"

she sighed after a moment. "Maybe she'll make it yet."

Jules's efforts did not cease once they were safely in space, however. He was taking

sightings on various stars to determine exactly what octant of the Galaxy they were in

and what the coordinates of this star system were. It took him better than half an hour

just to make the basic measurements, and then another hour to run his calculations

through the shipboard computer. But eventually he did discover their exact whereabouts,

and was able from that point to send out a subcom call to the Head back on Earth.

As he started to put the call through, he gave a slight nod to his sister, who found a

pretext to have Pias join her belowdeck in the tiny galley. Although the Newforester had

proven to be a good ally, they could not risk revealing the Head's identity to someone

about whom they still knew so little.

Garst's subcom did not have a Service scrambler as did the d'Alembert vessel, so Jules

intentionally left the visual circuits off, both for transmitting and receiving. When the

Head's voice came over the speaker, Jules spoke slowly, encoding his message in one

of SOTE's top codes as he went along. The first thing he mentioned was that they had

gotten Helena out, but that she had been given nitrobarb and was not yet past the dan-

ger point. He reported that Garst had been the person running the operation on

Sanctuary, and probably the person who had administered the nitrobarb and learned all

of Helena's secrets. But Garst was now quite definitely dead, and anything he learned

had died with him-unless, Jules added significantly, he had passed the information along

to someone else before the d'Alemberts had reached him. The Head listened to that

speculation somberly, but did not interrupt Jules's report.

Jules gave the coordinates for Sanctuary's star system and requested that several naval

vessels be detailed to pick up the criminals they would find down on the planet's surface.

He had destroyed most or all of the ships on the spaceport field, Jules said, but new

ships were arriving there every day and might be able to take some of the "clients" away

before the Imperial Navy could arrive.

The Head took a moment to check the position of naval ships in that Sector, and then

assured his agent that a Navy vessel could reach Sanctuary in at most two and a half

days. In the meantime, he would also issue orders to have the entire region around

Sanctuary cordoned off, so that all ships coming out of that particular volume of space

would be thoroughly searched. A handful of lucky crooks might elude the blockade, but

the vast majority would be captured and turned over to the appropriate authorities_.

Jules mentioned their newfound friend, Pias Belville, and requested a security check on

him. There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then the Head replied, "I

don't think that will be necessary."

"Why not, sir?"

"The Bavols have already been thoroughly investigated for their loyalty as a matter of

routine. Pias is the eldest child of the Duke of Newforest, which makes him a marquis

and heir to the entire planet. Newforesters were suspect when they were first brought

into the Empire fifty years ago, but they've proven their loyalty since then. Unless you

have some special reason to doubt him, I'd give him a tentative smooth rating."

Jules was stunned. Pias had given them no indication that he was of the nobility; but

then, they had hidden the same fact from him. Their father, Etienne d'Alembert, was

Duke of DesPlaines, though it was their older brother Robert who would inherit the title.

Jules and Yvette merely had the formal rank of Lord and Lady a rank they seldom had

occasion to use.

Jules assured his boss that they would head for Earth at all possible speed. He wasn't

sure exactly how fast Garst's ship was capable of traveling, but he estimated the flight

time between seven and ten days. And, of course, he would subcom a message the

instant they knew whether Helena would survive the nitrobarb. The Head thanked him for

his kindness and concern, and the two broke the connection. Then Jules made the nec-

essary preparations for dropping the ship into subspace.

Yvette was equally surprised when she learned of Pias's rank. When the two of them

confronted him about it, be just looked sheepish and admitted that he was indeed the

Marquis of Newforest.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Yvette asked. "It didn't seem germane to the

situation," Pias answered with a shrug.

Helena hovered on the brink of death for hours. Shortly after they entered subspace, the

girl broke out in a deep sweat. Her body was drenched in perspiration, and her clothes

clung to her like a second skin. All three of the others took turns sponging her off with

damp pieces of cloth. At one point her temperature hovered close to forty Celsius, and

her friends began to despair.

Several hours later, she passed into a state of hallucinations. She would scream and

shriek, mostly in gibberish - with only a few words recognizable. She thrashed around so

violently that it took all of Jules's DesPlainian strength to hold her and prevent her from

hurting herself. In freefall, the situation was even worse than it would have been under

gravity conditions.

When those fits passed, Helena was suddenly struck with fierce chills. They wrapped her

in the only two blankets they could find aboard the ship, and Jules again held her, this

time to lend his body heat as well as his strength. Finally the bout of chills passed, too,

and Helena floated in the control room, her entire body pale, her chest barely moving to

indicate she was breathing. "We'll know soon," Yvette said-and her voice was far from

confident.

Jules was standing watch over their patient when her eyelids began flickering weakly. He

bent over her as one eyelid pried open for a second before closing again. Instantly, Jules

called for his sister, and Yvette was at his side in a moment.

Helena's eyelids flickered some more before she was finally able to open both eyes and

stare, uncomprehendingly at first, at the faces of her two close friends. Yvette had

deliberately lowered the room lighting so that the sudden glare would not be too blinding.

"How do you feel?" Jules asked compassionately. Helena's mind was confused for a

moment, and her thoughts traveled in random paths. Then, with a rush, all the memories

came flying back at her-the attempted escape, the fighting at the spaceport, the capture,

and then her interrogation by Garst up to the point where he injected her with the

nitrobarb. She had obviously pulled through and her friends were with her and she was in

freefall. But more than that, she could not guess.

"Very dizzy, very weak and very confused," she replied truthfully. "It's good to see both

of you, though. I never thought I'd see anything again." Then, as Pias moved into her line

of sight, she suddenly became very suspicious. "Who's he?" she asked.

Carefully, Jules and Yvette gave her a step by step account of the events following

Helena's capture at the spaceport. The care was taken, not for Helena's benefit, but for

Pias's; he might be a loyal subject of the Emperor, but even so they did not go about

blurting out classified information to any loyal citizen unless he had the need to know.

Helena realized the ground rules and read their story between the lines.

While Jules was putting through another subcom. call to the Head to let him know his

daughter was out of danger, Yvette shooed Pias out of the room and asked Helena,

"Well, what do you think of field work now?"

Helena smiled ruefully. "You were right. I think I've had enough of it to last me the rest of

my life. There are advantages to sitting safely behind a desk and letting you take the

risks."

"Everybody does what he can do best," Yvette nodded. "Your paperwork is no less

essential than our field duties. Our job only looks more glamorous."

The trip back to Earth took a total of eight days in the cramped quarters of Garst's ship.

During that time, there was little to do except for all of them to get better acquainted.

Helena was introduced to Marquis Pias, though Jules and Yvette refrained from giving

Helena's name. Unfortunately, none of the three SOTS people could really talk about

themselves very much, which left much of the conversational burden on Pias's shoulders.

He was a glib talker, though, and if he minded their secretiveness he didn't let it show. By

the time they reached Earth, even Jules had to admit his initial impression of the

Newforester had been mistaken, and that the man was really a nice guy, after all. Yvette

gave him a smug smile and said nothing. It was obvious that her own feelings toward the

man were deepening as well.

When they landed at the Canaveral Spaceport they were greeted by an ambulance,

which whisked Helena off to a hospital despite her assurances that she'd been out of her

coma for a week and was feeling almost back to normal. Jules, Yvette and Pias left the

ship anonymously and checked into one of the swanker nearby hotels. As soon as the

Head was satisfied that they'd left the ship, he had it confiscated and Garst's records

were seized and analyzed.

Two uneventful days passed for Jules and Yvette. They were beginning to wonder

whether they'd been forgotten when they received orders to appear at the Ambassador

Suite on the top floor of their hotel that night for a very private meeting. There was little

doubt in their minds about the general nature of that rendezvous.

Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst himself opened the doors for them and ushered

them inside the suite. Duchess Helena was lying stretched out on one long sofa; she

started to get to her feet when the others entered, but they all insisted that she stay just

where she was. Her face was still quite pale, though some color was slowly beginning to

creep back into het cheeks.

"First off," the Head said after all the hellos had been exchanged, "I'd like to express my

personal thank for all the two of you have done on this assignment. You brought my

daughter back safely; I don't know of anyone else who could have done as good a job

under the circumstances."

"We did have some help," Yvette pointed out.

"Yes, I intend to discuss your friend the Marquis later. Right now, please accept the

gratitude of a loving father for the safe return of his daughter."

"We were happy to do it," Jules replied. "Helena's our friend, too."

"Now to speak as your boss," the Head went on, shifting his tone of voice to a more

professional level. "I'd like to say I'm gratified with the work you've done for me-even

though it points the way to still more work that needs to be done. The conspiracy we're

facing is an enormous one; it may even be bigger than Banion's network."

The d'Alemberts exchanged startled glances. The conspiracy masterminded by Banion

the Bastard had spanned more than three quarters of the Empire, had infiltrated some of

the highest levels of the Service itself, and had been nearly fifty years in the planning.

Could anything be bigger than that?

"How much of Garst's records did you read over?" the Head continued.

"Not much," Yvette admitted. "Most of it was in the form of tapes, and we simply didn't

have the equipment aboard ship to play them back. Then too, with Pias there we were

reluctant to let too much out of the bag." "Commendable," the Head nodded. "But I've

been studying what you brought back and, frankly, it scares me silly. Particularly one

tape.

"As you know, we first became aware of a deep-set conspiracy when your cousin Luise

learned from the late Dr. Rustin about the other robots he'd made. The information you

obtained on Mellisande confirmed that, and added another piece-Lady A. She seemed to

be a focal point for the activities, a very high official in that conspiracy. Well, she turned

up again in Garst's office-unfortunately, on the same day Helena arrived. Garst very

conveniently kept taped records of most of the conversations that occurred there. Let me

play that particular tape for you."

The Head went over to the videorecorder he'd set up in one comer of the room and

pressed a button. The d'Alemberts sat silently-and in shock-as they watched and listened

to the conversation. They saw Lady A for the first time and heard her voice as she

identified Zander von Wilmenhorst as Head of the Service, and Helena as his chief

assistant. They listened to her claim that she and her organization knew most of what

went on in SOTE, and her implied statement that she was working toward the overthrow

of the Empire. When the tape was over, they sat, stunned, for several seconds.

"I've shown that tape to Bill," the Head said quietly, "and his reaction was much the same

as yours." The reference could be to only one person-His Imperial Majesty William

Stanley, tenth of his royal line, supreme ruler of the Empire of Earth. "I offered him my

resignation, on the grounds that the knowledge of my identity would limit my

effectiveness. He rejected that out of hand, saying that he still thought I was the best

man for the job and that I should be able to handle any contingency."

"I agree with him, sir," Jules said. "I have full confidence in you. But that tape is

dismaying."

"Thank you. You have a talent, though, for understatement. That tape is devastating. We

thought we'd plugged all the leaks in our office after the Banion affair, and yet we seem

to be more porous than ever. I'd stake my life on the people we have working under us,

yet there continues to be a leak."

"Could one of our trustworthy people have been replaced by one of Dr. Rustin's robots?"

Yvette suggested.

Their boss shook his head. "No, that was one of the first things that occurred to me, too.

But as soon as we learned about the existence of those robots we X-rayed all our

personnel and they checked out as human. We did it again yesterday after I saw that

tape, with the same results. There are no robot infiltrators in our top echelons. Whatever

the real answer is, it's a lot more complex than that. Did either of you recognize that

woman?"

Both Jules and Yvette had to admit that they'd never seen her before.

"Neither have I," the Head sighed. "Yet she must operate largely on Earth, since this is

the seat of government; she'd have to stay close if she wanted to keep her finger on

SOTE's pulse. Also, her clothes were in the latest Court fashion, indicating she is a

person of some means or rank. But that is the only real clue we have."

"What do you intend to do then, sir?" Jules asked. "Espionage is a game of secrets

within secrets. It's not merely a matter of finding out what the other side knows; you also

have to keep them guessing about how much you know. At the moment, there are only

five people in the Galaxy who know we've seen that tape the four of us in this room and

Bill. Even Irene and Edna haven't been informed of it, nor will they be. The two of you are

not to make any mention of it to anyone, not even your relatives. There will be no record

of its existence anywhere; as far as the Service is officially concerned, the tapes found in

Garst's office were inconsequential records, nothing more. If the enemy knows that the

tape exists at all, they will have no way of knowing we've seen it. That will give us some

slight advantage. Boche knows, we need it."

"What about our identities?" Jules asked. "One of our major assets has always been that

no one else in the Service has been aware of the role the Circus plays. Only a few

people in SOTS-like Marask Kantana, for instance-have ever seen our faces, and they

don't know the whole truth. Does the enemy know about that now, too?"

Here Helena blushed fiercely. "I feel so embarrassed about that. There's a tape of Garst

interrogating me, and I told him everything about you and the Circus."

"You couldn't help it," Yvette soothed. "You were under nitrobarb. You were lucky to

live."

"From the way Garst was questioning her," Helena's father went on, "it was obvious that

the information was new and stunning to him. If Lady A and her friends know, they didn't

let him in on the secret. And he never told them, either, for some reason. The Navy per-

sonnel who took over Sanctuary report that the subcom was not used between the time

Garst questioned Helena and the time you killed him. Whatever he knew died with him.

"Of course, we have no way of knowing whether Lady A is aware of you through her

other sources-but something, call it intuition, makes me doubt that very much. I don't

think she'd be quite so confident if she did, and I think she would have ordered Garst to

kill Helena immediately, because she'd have known I'd send you in after her. She may be

aware of your code names-everyone in the Service is-but she still doesn't know your

capabilities. I intend to keep it that way. Security about your identities will be tighter than

ever.

"And speaking of that brings us to the subject of Pias Belville. I understand, Yvette my

dear, that you are quite taken with the man."

"He asked me yesterday morning to become engaged to him," Yvette said quietly. "I told

him I'd need some time to think about it."

"Meaning that you wanted to talk it over with me," the Head smiled. "That's very wise of

you. Tell me, how do you feel about him?"

"I love him very much," the female d'Alembert said without an instant's hesitation. "I'd love

to marry him. But I have a duty to the Service, and I can't allow any conflict there. If you

feel he'd be a security risk, I'll have to turn him down."

"What do you think of him, Jules?"

"I didn't like him at first," the other agent admitted. "He was too flashy, too talky and

acted in too suspicious a manner. But as the going got tougher, so did he. I can't entirely

condone what he did to Carnery-but I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if someone

were to butcher Vonnie."

"If he were to marry Yvette, we'd have to bring him into the network and give him agent

training. How do you think he'd do?"

"Initially, I wouldn't have thought very much of his chances. But he tracked his man for

two years without having any formal training at all. He got to Sanctuary and completed

his mission without help from anyone else; he might even have been able to get away

without anyone's help if our paths hadn't crossed so violently. If, as you say, his loyalty is

above question then yes, I'd sponsor him through the training academy."

Yvette wanted to lean over and kiss her brother, but restrained her enthusiasm.

The Head looked at Yvette. "You realize he'll have to be told virtually everything. About

your identities, about your background, about the Circus-the whole works. Your family

will want to meet him before they give their approval, though I don't think Etienne would

hold back on such a marriage. Belville will have to know everything except the matter of

the Garst tape; that I intend to keep secret among the five who already know it. I'll rely

on your judgment-do you trust the Marquis that much? Your lives may depend on the

answer."

"He's already saved my life once, and Jules's twice," Yvette replied. "And both times he

didn't have to. He could have let us die and didn't. Yes, I'd trust him again in a second."

And Jules gave a quiet nod of agreement.

"Khorosho," said the Head with a smile. "If my two best agents are willing to put their

lives in this man's hands, I can do no less. He is not to know my identity, of

course-though if he ever sees Helena at a public function he'll probably guess. I'll leave it

to you to break the news to him, and I'll see that he's admitted to the Service Academy."

There were tears of happiness in Yvette's eyes as her boss spoke. Helena got up off her

couch and came over to give her friend a sisterly kiss on the cheek and the two women

began talking over the details of the marriage-whether it would be before or after Pias's

training, what kind of ceremony it would be, and so forth.

Zander von Wilmenhorst watched them with mixed emotions. His mind was considering a

wedding, too, but one that few people yet knew about. The announcement would soon

be made that Crown Princess Edna would be marrying the man of her choice, a man

named Choyen Liu. With her being the only child of the-Emperor, Edna's wedding would

command the attention of the entire Galaxy-and, he presumed, the attention of Lady A

and her mob as well. Something would be afoot, he was sure of that, though what it

would be he couldn't even begin to guess right now. He would be responsible for

security, and nothing could be allowed to jeopardize the safety of the Princess and the

Succession.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he focused his attention once more

on his two top agents, Jules and Yvette d'Alembert. They've earned a brief vacation, he

told himself. I can afford to give them a little rest before they have to save the Galaxy

again.