Hidden	City

M	S	Lawson

Published	by	M	S	Lawson,	2025.





This	is	a	work	of	fiction.	Similarities	to	real	people,	places,	or	events	are	entirely coincidental.

HIDDEN	CITY

First	edition.	February	16,	2025.

Copyright	©	2025	M	S	Lawson.

ISBN:	978-0645524529

Written	by	M	S	Lawson.

Table	of	Contents

Title	Page

Copyright	Page

Hidden	City

CHAPTER	ONE

CHAPTER	TWO

CHAPTER	THREE

CHAPTER	FOUR

CHAPTER	FIVE

CHAPTER	SIX

CHAPTER	SEVEN

CHAPTER	EIGHT

CHAPTER	NINE

CHAPTER	TEN

CHAPTER	ELEVEN

CHAPTER	TWELVE

CHAPTER	THIRTEEN

CHAPTER	FOURTEEN

CHAPTER	FIFTEEN

CHAPTER	SIXTEEN

CHAPTER	SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER	EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER	NINETEEN

CHAPTER	TWENTY

CHAPTER	TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER	TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER	TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

About	the	Author





HIDDEN	CITY

By	M	S	Lawson

ISBN		978-0-6455245-2-9	(e-book)

Copyright©	2025	by	Mark	Steven	Lawson	writing	as	M	S	Lawson markslawson@optusnet.com.au

Published	by	Clearvadersname	Pty	Ltd

Website:	www.clearvadersname.com

All	rights	reserved.	The	book	contains	material	protected	under	international and	national	copyright	laws	and	treaties.	Any	unauthorized	reprint	or	use	of	this material	is	prohibited.	No	part	of	this	book	may	be	reproduced	or	transmitted	in any	form	or	by	any	means,	electronic	or	mechanical,	including	photocopying, without	express	permission	from	the	publisher.

Other	books	by	this	author

No	Wolves	in	Los	Angeles	(ebook,	2023)

Obsidian’s	War	–	the	winter	city	(ebook,	2022)

Obsidian’s	War	(ebook,	2021)

The	Musketeers	of	Haven	–	a	science	fiction	story	(ebook,	2020) Claire	Takes	on	The	Galaxy	(ebook,	published	on	the	website	Dreame,	2019) Darth	Vader	–	The	good	guy	who	lost	(non-fiction	ebook,	2018) A	Planet	for	Emily	(ebook,	2017)

Disgraced	in	all	of	Koala	Bay	(ebook,	2016)

The	Zen	of	Being	Grumpy	(non-fiction	published	by	Connor	Court,	2013) Cover	image:	devised	using	the	website	NightCafe	Studio Spelling	and	grammar	note:	the	spelling	in	this	book	is	mainly	English standard.	That	is	civilization	not	civilization;	colour	not	color,	and	so	on,	except that	the	spelling	and	grammar	correction	system	I	used	often	had	different	ideas.

Readers	will	simply	have	to	put	up	with	the	horror	of	the	occasional	slip.	Read on.

CHAPTER	ONE

Absorbed	in	testing	circuits	on	a	hover	car	lift-crystal	unit,	Alf	did	not	realise anyone	else	was	in	the	workshop	until	a	shadow	fell	across	his	workbench.	He turned	to	see	an	attractive	woman	in	perhaps	her	late	20s,	dark	hair	cut	short	in the	fashion	of	the	time.	She	wore	a	white	shirt	with	a	gold	chain	at	the	throat	and black	pants	that	clung	to	her	figure	in	a	way	that	Alfonso,	or	just	Alf,	admired.	A brown,	knee-length	jacket	plus	a	few	touches	of	makeup	underscored	the	general air	of	street	chic,	but	with	a	grim	underlying	message	of	a	shoulder	holster containing	a	police	issue	Glock	nine	millimetre	with	a	laser	sight,	barely concealed	by	the	jacket.	Despite	all	the	technological	advances,	this	classic weapon	remained	a	reliable	way	to	blow	holes	in	people	should	the	user	decide to	do	so,	as	Alf	knew	well.	Another	problem	was	that	the	newcomer's	otherwise bright	eyes	regarded	Alf	with	a	potent	mixture	of	official	disdain	and	feminine contempt.

"This	is	an	honour,	sergeant,"	said	Alf.	turning	around	and	getting	up.	Police sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	was	model-tall,	but	Alf	still	towered	above	her.	"I	didn't hear	you	come	in.	You're	looking	good;	figure's	trim.	You've	been	working	out."

"Shut	up,	scum,"	she	snapped.

"Ooookay,"	said	Alf.	He	nodded	at	the	second,	auburn-haired	female	police officer	just	behind	the	Sergeant	and	said,	"Senior	constable."	That	police	official, Samantha	Pye,	was	not	blessed	with	the	same	cheekbones	or	figure	as	her superior	but	was	somewhat	friendlier	as	she	nodded	back	and	almost	smiled.	"If this	is	about	stolen	spare	parts	again,	I	told	you	the	last	couple	of	times	it's	really Julian	who	buys	and	sells,	and	I'm	pretty	sure	he's	not	into	anything."

"It's	not	about	parts,"	snapped	the	Sergeant.	"I	have	questions	for	the	hired slime.	Julian's	not	in?	We'll	use	his	office."

"The	boss's	out	on	a	job	at	the	spaceport,"	said	Alf.	"Even	us	slimy mechanics	get	called	in	to	help	with	the	orbital	shuttles	from	time	to	time."	He eyed	the	police	officer's	figure	again	as	they	walked	to	the	office.	"Looking good,	Sergeant.	You've	been	putting	that	rowing	machine	in	the	gym	to	good use."

Ellen	rounded	on	Alf.

"How	do	you	know	I've	been	using	a	rowing	machine?	You	been	stalking me,	you	creep?"

"Not	at	all,	sergeant,"	said	Alf,	mildly.	"We	use	the	same	gym,	but	I	mostly stay	on	the	boxing	side,	so	you	haven't	seen	me.	I	only	saw	you	because	some	of

the	other	gentlemen	in	the	boxing	gym	made	–	um	–	admiring	comments	about	a woman	using	the	rowing	machine,	and	I	looked	for	myself.

"Ha!"	she	said.	They	went	into	the	office,	where	she	took	the	padded,	swivel chair,	leaving	Alf	and	the	senior	constable	to	take	two	chipped,	plastic	stacker chairs	used	by	guests.	The	office's	large	glass	window	looked	out	onto	the cavernous	workshop	filled	with	ground	and	hover	vehicles	of	all	types.	Both sides	of	the	office	were	fitted	with	shelves	crammed	with	equipment,	including discarded,	faulty	parts	and	a	couple	of	testing	units	Alf	sometimes	used.	The only	decorations	were	drawings	done	by	the	boss's	very	young	children	tacked up	on	the	back	wall.	He	also	kept	a	framed	picture	of	his	family	on	the	battered desk	next	to	the	computer.	The	Sergeant's	eyes	softened	when	it	looked	at	those family	items	before	switching	back	to	Alf	at	full	glare.

"Would	I	appreciate	these	'admiring	comments'?"	she	asked.

"They	were	raw	compliments,"	said	Alf	judiciously,	"that	would	have	to	be translated	from	male-speak	to	be	suitable	for	mixed	company."

The	senior	constable	just	managed	to	transform	an	emerging	giggle	into	a snort,	earning	a	glare	from	her	superior.

(In	fact,	the	cleanest	of	the	comments	made	to	Alf	was	that	the	girl	on	the rowing	machine	was	a	"prime	piece.")

"Getting	back	from	the	gym,"	said	the	Sergeant,	"I've	been	told	you've	been doing	work	on	the	star	freighters	in	orbit;	you	got	ferried	up	there	for	two	days."

"Maybe	I	have,	and	maybe	I	haven't,"	said	Alf	carefully.	"Is	it	a	crime	to	do repair	work?	This	business	is	called	in	for	jobs	at	the	port,	as	Julian	will	tell you."

The	spaceport	was,	in	fact,	close	enough	for	the	occasional	rumble	of departing	orbital	shuttles	to	be	heard	and	felt	in	the	office.	The	suburb	of Marshland	where	the	workshop	was	located	mainly	existed	to	supply	services	to the	port,	ranging	from	machinery	repairs	to	the	less	savory	entertainments	for visiting	crews	and	the	port's	small	garrison	of	Imperial	auxiliaries,	as	well	as housing	many	of	its	workers.	However,	those	who	could	afford	to	do	so	lived	on the	other	side	of	the	port,	in	Creaghville	proper,	and	pretended	that	Marshland and	the	adjacent	marshes	that	gave	the	area	its	name	did	not	exist.

"No	crime	in	itself,"	said	the	Sergeant,	"but	when	I	heard	about	it,	I	took another	look	at	the	criminal	record	of	one	Alfonso	Grego	Martinez,	a	petty	thief from	the	Sulu	system."

"I'm	flattered	that	you	should	take	an	interest	in	me,	Sergeant,"	said	Alf, inwardly	cursing	that	someone	had	talked,	although	he'd	asked	for	his involvement	in	the	repair	mission	to	be	kept	quiet.

"You	don't	want	this	sort	of	attention,	scum,"	said	the	Sergeant.	"The	record of	the	petty	thief	that	goes	with	the	tracker	embedded	in	your	arm	by	Imperial law	shows	that	he	just	scraped	through	school	before	being	arrested	for	a	series of	crude	smash	and	grabs.	But	I'm	told	you	need	at	least	a	master's	in	space	drive engineering	to	work	on	the	engines	of	those	big	ships."

"What	can	I	say,	Sergeant?	A	man	learns	a	lot	knocking	about	the	galaxy."

"The	record	also	shows	that	you're	supposed	to	be	shorter	than	me,	but	I would	barely	come	up	to	your	shoulder,	even	in	high	heels."

The	senior	constable	raised	one	eyebrow	over	that	remark	but	remained silent.

"I	guess	being	out	on	the	rim	made	me	grow	in	many	ways,	Sergeant,	and you'd	look	really	great	in	high	heels."

"Do	you	seriously	want	to	spend	the	night	in	a	jail	cell?"

"No,	ma'am."

"Then	stick	to	answering	my	questions.	The	listed	weight	is	way	off."

"I've	been	eating	well,"	said	Alf.	"Those	records	can	be	inaccurate."

"The	physical	description	doesn't	match,	nor	does	the	picture."	She	leaned forward.	"Who	are	you,	Alfonso?"

"Just	a	mechanic	trying	to	get	by	in	this	grand	universe	of	ours."

"Right!"	she	snorted.	"Here's	the	thing,	Scum,	I	was	all	for	dragging	your arse	down	to	the	station	and	sweating	some	real	answers	out	of	you	instead	of the	crap	you've	been	handing	me.	Whoever	you	are,	if	you've	taken	this	petty criminal's	identity,	your	actual	identity	must	be	way	worse.	There's	also	the question	of	what	happened	to	the	real	Alfonso.	But	my	inspector	says	to	just	ask for	now."

"Nice	of	him."

"He	also	says	to	say	you	can	earn	some	points	for	yourself	by	keeping	an	ear out	about	this	crashed	ship."

"Crashed	ship?"

"Sure,	a	big	ship	meant	to	have	gone	down	somewhere	on	the	other	side	of the	marshes."

"First	I've	heard	of	it,"	said	Alf.	"They	were	trying	to	get	to	the	port.

Wouldn't	port	control	just	track	the	transponder?"

"It's	not	like	that,"	said	the	Sergeant."	Whoever	was	on	the	ship	must	be lowlifes	like	you.	They	didn't	want	to	check	in	at	the	actual	port,	but	they	need facilities	and	mechanics	to	fix	the	ship."

"This	is	why	you	started	asking	questions	around	the	port	and	checking records?"

"Why	I	started	asking	questions	about	your	past	isn't	relevant,	Scum,"	she said.	"What	you	want	to	think	about	is	your	future.	Help	out	the	police	on	this, and	we	may	just	decide	that	you're	not	worth	our	time	and	the	taxpayer's	expense of	a	jail	cell."

"I	can	certainly	keep	an	ear	out	as	you	say,	Sergeant,"	said	Alf,	"but	it	sounds wild	to	me.	There's	no	place	to	hide	a	ship	out	there.	Even	a	small	escape	pod would	be	picked	up	in	any	scan.	Sounds	almost	as	wild	as	that	city	that's supposed	to	be	in	the	desert."

"Never	mind	the	hidden	city	crap,"	said	the	Sergent.

"We've	chased	a	few	rumours	on	that	one,"	said	the	senior	constable, speaking	up	for	the	first	time,	"And	come	up	with	nothing.	No	trace	on	scans either."

"Let's	concentrate	on	the	crashed	ship,"	said	the	Sergeant.	"Here	is	my	card with	the	station's	number.	Someone	there	will	listen	to	your	report	and	replay	it to	me,	any	time	of	the	day	or	night."

"You're	giving	me	your	number,	Sergeant?"

"Work	number,"	said	the	Sergeant,	standing	up.	"Use	it	for	anything	other than	business,	and	the	city	has	a	dark,	cold	jail	cell	with	your	name	on	it."

"Yes,	ma'am,"	he	said.

Out	on	the	street	of	downtown	Marshland,	Sergeant	Pullen	asked	Senior Constable	Pye	if	she	had	planted	the	bugs.

"Sure,	one	in	the	workshop,	away	from	the	electrical	equipment,	and	another in	the	office	under	the	desk.	He	was	so	busy	looking	at	you	he	didn't	notice	what I	did..."	She	giggled,	"Admiring	comments...	Maybe	we'll	get	something	from the	bugs,	but	otherwise,	apart	from	learning	that	you're	drawing	attention	at	the gym,	we	didn't	get	much	from	that	stop."

"Um,	well."	Ellen	stopped	to	open	her	jacket	and	appraise	her	figure	in	the reflection	of	a	glass	shopfront.	We	learned	that	he	noticed	I'd	been	working	out."

"Divorce	finalised?"	said	Samatha	who	was	a	friend	as	well	as	colleague	of Ellen.

"Yep."

"Going	to	do	the	dating	scene?"

"Guess	so,	eventually,"	said	Ellen.

"You	know	the	talk	around	the	girl's	lockers	in	the	station	was	that	we	should arrest	Alf	on	the	grounds	that	he's	way	more	interesting	a	guy	to	question	than the	drunks	we	get	from	the	strip	clubs."

"The	other	girls	know	Alf?"

"Mostly	by	sight.	I	told	them	he's	got	personality	and	presence	as	well	as looks.	If	you're	going	back	on	the	dating	scene,	you	could	do	way	worse	than	ask





Alf	out,	especially	as	he	seems	interested.	But	if	you're	going	to	date	a	guy, maybe	calling	him	Scum,	slime	and	creep	is	not	the	best	way	to	start	out."

"I	call	him	that	because	I	may	yet	have	to	arrest	him,"	said	Ellen,	"and	I	don't know	who	he	is.	What's	our	next	stop?"

CHAPTER	TWO

After	the	police	left,	Julian	called	Alf	from	the	spaceport	to	ask	if	anything	had happened.	Alfonso	told	him	that	an	e-bike	used	for	commuting,	which	wasn't recharging	properly,	had	been	brought	in,	and	a	gigantic	diesel	farm	unit requiring	servicing	had	been	dropped	off,	but	he	did	not	mention	the	police	visit.

Julian	told	him	to	close	up	at	the	end	of	the	business	day,	which	he	did.	Then	Alf walked	several	blocks	through	the	narrow	streets	of	grey	sandstone	buildings	to the	gym,	also	frequented	by	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen,	where	he	earned	a	few	extra credits	as	a	sparring	partner	to	aspiring	kickboxers.	Alf	preferred	boxing	with	its greater	emphasis	on	footwork	and	evasion	and	thought	that	in	a	real	fight, kicking	at	anything	higher	than	the	groin	was	asking	for	trouble,	but	kickboxing was	the	preferred	sport	in	the	outpost,	and	he	had	shown	enough	talent	at	it	for one	of	the	trainers	to	offer	to	coach	him.	Alf	politely	declined	on	the	grounds that	he	was	too	old	to	start	a	career	in	competition.

"Too	old	to	maybe	go	all	the	way,"	the	trainer	said.	"But	you	don't	need much	training	to	step	into	a	ring,	and	you	could	easily	win	bouts	now.	I	even	get the	impression	that	you're	holding	back	at	times."

"Look,	thanks	for	the	offer,	but	I've	seen	too	much	fighting	already.	I	can handle	being	a	target	for	the	fighting	wannabes,	but	that's	it."	He	did	not	mention another	compelling	reason	–	that	winning	a	few	fights	might	draw	unwanted attention	from	people	who	would	take	a	closer	look	at	his	identity

"Suit	yourself,"	the	trainer	said.	"Just	keep	my	offer	in	mind."

"I'll	do	that."

Alf	had	changed	into	shorts	and	a	sleeveless	tee	shirt	and	was	waiting	by	one of	the	rings	to	be	called,	talking	to	one	of	the	wannabes,	when	he	was	tapped	on the	shoulder.	He	turned	to	see	a	man	almost	as	tall	and	a	little	wider	than	himself dressed	in	an	ill-fitting	suit	with	a	black	shirt	but	no	tie.	His	head	was	shaven, and	his	face	reminded	Alf	of	a	concrete	wall.

"Office,"	said	this	mean-looking	apparition,	then	he	turned	and	left.

Alf	remained	where	he	was,	talking	to	the	wannabe,	but	adjusted	his	position so	that	he	could	see	the	thug	return	and	try	to	grab	his	arm.	Alf	batted	the	man's arm	away.

"Do	I	know	you?"	he	said,	facing	the	intruder	squarely.	The	wannabe	faded away.	The	other	gym	inmates	stopped	to	watch	this	piece	of	workplace	theatre.

"Office,"	said	the	man,	sneeringly.

"I	heard	you	the	first	time."

Alf	and	the	thug	eyed	one	another	for	a	time.

"Come	to	the	office	now."

"Okay,	so	you	want	me	to	come	to	an	office.	Which	office	and	why?"

The	thug	gestured	at	the	boxing	gym	manager's	office	in	the	corner.	"Mr Charles	wants	to	see	you."

Alf	was	being	summoned	to	see	the	local	crime	lord.

"Really!	Mr	Charles	wants	to	see	me.	Did	he	say	why?"

"Come,	now,"	said	the	thug	angrily.

Alf	thought	the	newcomer	riled	up	nicely,	but	there	was	no	point	in	riling him	any	further.	If	Mr	Charles	wanted	to	see	him,	he	would	go.

"Lead	the	way,"	he	said.

The	thug	led	the	way	to	the	office,	opened	the	door,	and	stepped	to	one	side, grinning	most	unpleasantly.	Alf,	who	had	dealt	with	thugs	before,	knew	the	man meant	to	push	him	in.	Watching	the	thug	out	of	the	corner	of	his	eye,	he	waited for	the	man	to	surge	forward,	then	sidestepped	and	hauled	on	his	assailant's	arm with	all	his	might,	sticking	out	one	leg	to	trip	him.	The	thug	flew	through	the door	to	land	face	down	on	the	carpet,	his	head	narrowly	missing	the	corner	of	the boxing	gym	manager's	desk.	The	man	leaped	to	his	feet	–	he	was	agile	-	and whirled,	fists	clenched.

"Thumper,	that's	enough!"	barked	a	man	sitting	at	the	manager's	desk.

"Mr	Charles,	I	presume?"	said	Alf.	"Sorry	about	that	but	your	associate	is	no diplomat."

"His	specialty	is	dispute	resolution,"	said	Mr	Charles,	with	a	slight	smile.

"And	he's	very	good	at	it.	You're	lucky	I've	called	him	off."

Mr	Charles	had	the	face	and	demeanour	of	a	suburban	accountant,	dressing in	a	light,	grey	suit	and	pastel	tie	as	might	be	expected	of	such	a	comparatively humble	but	respectable	post,	all	of	which	belied	his	reputation	for	ruthlessness backed	by	violence.	Another	thug	stamped	out	of	the	same	mould	as	Alf's opponent	and	dressed	in	the	same	way,	sat	to	one	side.	The	final	occupant	of	the office,	sitting	in	one	corner,	was	a	balding,	squat,	fresh-faced	man	dressed	in	a floral	shirt	and	off-white	pants	and	openly	wearing	a	holster	containing	a	police-issue	handgun	identical	to	the	one	carried	by	Sergeant	Pullen.

"Alf,	is	it?"	said	the	man	wearing	the	police-issue	holster	as	the	second	thug touched	a	button	to	turn	the	windows	looking	out	onto	the	boxing	area	opaque.

Thumper	retreated	to	another	corner	to	glare	at	Alf.

"Inspector,"	said	Alf.	He	knew	who	the	man	was,	although	it	was	the	first time	he	had	spoken	to	him.	"I	had	your	Sergeant	Pullen	pay	me	a	visit	today."

"We	discussed	your	responses	to	her	questions	and	offer,"	said	the	inspector.

"And	now	you've	met	Mr	Charles."

"You	are	a	man	of	consequence	in	what	thriller	writers	would	call	the underworld,	Mr	Charles,"	said	Alf.	"I	would	have	thought	I'd	be	beneath	your notice."

"Just	a	businessman,	Alf,"	said	Mr	Charles,	pleasantly.	"Please	sit."	He indicated	a	swivel	chair	by	the	door	with	cracked	green	upholstery.	"As	it happens,	I	have	a	need	for	various	people	with	different	skills,	and	you	may	be able	to	make	yourself	some	money."

"I	had	Sergeant	Pullen	ask	around	the	spaceport,"	the	inspector	said,	"looking for	people	who	could	fix	starship	engines	and	reactors	who	would	also	be discreet,	and	your	name	came	up."

"Discreet?"	said	Alf.	"The	Sergeant	said	something	about	a	crashed spaceship	out	beyond	the	marshes	somewhere.	Doesn't	seem	likely	to	me."

"Let's	just	say	for	the	moment	that	I	need	your	skills	for	a	few	days,"	said	Mr Charles,	"although	I	am	curious	on	one	point.	You	don't	have	any	formal qualifications,	yet	I'm	told	you've	been	working	on	big-time	technology."

"There's	a	loophole	in	the	regulations,"	said	Alf.	"I	can	work	for	a	qualified spaceship	engineer	as	an	assistant.	There's	nothing	in	the	regs	about	the	assistant having	qualifications.	The	engineer	is	the	one	who	signs	off	on	the	job	and	takes the	fall	if	anything	goes	wrong."

"I	see,"	said	Mr	Charles.	"The	word	is	the	engineers	think	you	know	just	as much	as	they	do."

"Maybe,	Mr	Charles,"	said	Alf.	(In	fact,	the	senior	engineer	had	offered	him a	job	and	a	chance	to	work	towards	his	qualifications.	Alf	had	said	he	would think	about	it.)	"What	concerns	me	now	is	what	you'd	expect	me	to	do,	how	long you	would	want	my	services,	and	what	you'd	be	willing	to	pay	for	those	services.

Is	there	a	crashed	ship?"

"If	you	take	the	job,	you'll	be	taken	to	the	site	and	shown	what	we	want done."

"Then	it's	a	matter	of	going	out	somewhere	remote,	beyond	the	marshes?	I'm to	be	driven	out	to	the	site?"

"Yes,	taken	there."

"But	what	equipment	is	there	on	the	site,	Mr	Charles?	I	can't	just	show	up with	a	toolbox	and	hope	to	fix	advanced	engineering.	If	the	system,	or	whatever this	thing	is,	is	down	entirely,	then	I'll	need	to	jack	in	a	decent	generator	to reboot	the	software	and	use	the	diagnostics.	Then	it's	usually	a	matter	of	ordering spare	parts,	and	that	should	be	interesting	considering	that	the	people	who	do that	stuff	only	deal	with	known	engineering	firms."

"Hmmm,	I	see	you	know	something	about	what	you're	doing,"	said	Mr Charles.	"Let's	call	it	a	preliminary	scoping	out	then.	A	few	days	camping	out	in

the	wild	so	you	can	get	an	idea	of	what	has	to	be	done.	I'm	told	you're unattached,	so	there's	no	one	to	ask	where	you're	going."

"That	makes	more	sense.	Yes,	I'm	unattached,	but	I	still	have	a	job	and	a	boss who	depends	on	my	being	at	work.	How	many	days	are	we	talking	about,	and how	much?"

"How	many	do	you	think	you	might	need?"

"Mr	Charles,	how	would	I	know,"	said	Alf,	spreading	his	hands.	"Is	this	a ship?	Did	it	crash?	Is	it	a	problem	with	the	reactor	or	the	drive?	Is	the	operating system	still	in	one	piece?"

"There's	no	crash.	The	problem	is	that	nothing	seems	to	work.	You	touch	a button,	and	nothing	happens.	Generators	will	be	available."

"Hmmm,	well,	I'd	ask	for	more	details,	but	nothing	beats	going	and	looking for	myself.	Call	it	two	days.	It's	Tuesday	today,	so	take	me	out	Thursday morning,	and	with	any	luck,	by	Friday	afternoon,	I'll	have	a	plan	of	attack.	If	not, there's	still	the	weekend."

"That's	a	plan,"	said	Mr	Charles.	"My	associates	will	give	you	pick-up details."

"As	for	my	fee,	ten	thousand	credits	sounds	good."

Mr	Charles	smiled	slightly.	"If	you	can	fix	the	thing,	sure."

Alf	had	made	that	offer	expecting	Mr	Charles	to	bargain,	but	he	had	not.

"Half	in	my	account	tomorrow,"	he	said.	Mr	Charles'	expression	hardened.

"And	if	I	can't	do	anything	for	you,	I	won't	expect	the	other	half."

"Why	don't	we	see	what	you	can	do	before	throwing	money	at	you?"	said	the crime	lord.

"We	live	in	a	hard,	cold	universe,	Mr	Charles,	where	even	respected businessmen	can	neglect	agreed	payments,	especially	as	there	is	no	way	I	can take	you	to	court."

Mr	Charles	snorted.	"Still	seems	rash	to	throw	money	at	you.	Why	don't	you go	out	to	the	site,	and	then	we	can	agree	on	terms?"

"Where	I'm	at	the	mercy	of	your	thugs,	Mr	Charles?	With	all	due	respect,	I must	insist	that	it's	no	pay,	no	show."

"You'll	do	as	Mr	Charles	says,"	said	Thumper.

"Oh,	he's	fun,"	said	Alf,	mildly,	without	looking	at	the	thug.

"Not	now,	Thumper,"	said	Mr	Charles,	waving	one	hand	at	the	thug,	who subsided	but	continued	to	glare	at	Alf.	"Tell	you	what,	I'll	drop	one	thousand	in your	account	tomorrow."

"Make	it	two."

"Fifteen	hundred."





"And	we'll	call	that	my	appearance	money	for	this	jaunt,"	said	Alf	after	a moment's	thought.	"Make	it	three	credit	sticks	each	of	five	hundred	left	for	me	at the	desk	here	by	lunchtime,	and	I'll	go.	Leave	instructions	for	the	pickup	with	the sticks.	Now,	if	you'll	excuse	me,	I'll	get	back	to	what	I	was	doing."

After	Alf	had	left,	Mr	Charles	said	to	the	inspector:	"Your	sergeant,	can	she be	squared,	Evan?"

The	inspector	shook	his	head.	"She's	divorced	and	out	here	because	she	made a	ruckus	when	she	found	her	husband	was	involved	in	scams."

"Shame,	she	could	have	been	useful.	She	was	certainly	right	about	one thing."

"What's	that,	Mr	Charles?"

"Whoever	that	guy	is,	he's	no	petty	thief	from	Sulu."

CHAPTER	THREE

Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	returned	home	to	her	tiny,	rented	unit	in	one	of the	almost-presentable	sections	of	Marshland	at	the	end	of	a	day	of	chasing down	rumours	about	the	phantom	crashed	ship,	changed	into	pee	jays,	and	a dressing	gown	only	to	find	herself,	yet	again,	thinking	of	the	mysterious	Alf.

"Stop	this,"	she	told	herself	angrily.	"I	might	yet	have	to	arrest	him	I	can't date	him."

To	distract	herself,	she	switched	the	home	entertainment	system	to	a	popular drama	and	settled	down	in	front	of	the	screen	when	the	front	doorbell	chimed	on her	personal	assistant.	Earlier	generations	would	have	thought	of	the	PA	as	a mobile	phone,	but	it	was	much	more	than	that.	Ellen's	PA	had	even	advised	her when	it	was	time	to	divorce	her	now	ex-husband,	and	she	had	not	regretted taking	that	advice.	She	had	not	asked	the	device	what	it	thought	of	Alf	on	the chance	that	it	might	tell	her	to	ask	him	out.	Not	expecting	anyone,	she	looked	at the	surveillance	cam	on	her	front	porch	to	see,	to	her	surprise,	Alfonso,	the	man she	had	been	trying	to	keep	out	of	her	mind.	He	was	holding	a	piece	of cardboard	on	his	chest	with	a	message	hand-written	in	large	letters.

"Asked	to	go	to	ship	crash	site,"	she	read.	"Need	to	talk	directly	to	you."

After	taking	a	moment	to	grab	her	police	Glock	and	take	the	safety	off,	Ellen opened	the	door	and	stood	there,	pistol	in	hand,	glaring	at	Alf.

"You	were	told	to	ring	the	station,	Slime,"	she	snapped,	keeping	her	voice down.	Her	neighbours	had	been	known	to	inquire	about	male	visitors.	"And	how did	you	know	where	I	live?"

"I	can	explain	everything,"	said	Alf,	also	keeping	his	voice	down	for	the same	reason.	"Just	let	me	in	–	it's	kinda	exposed	out	here	–	and	you'll	hear	it	all."

She	thought	about	this	for	a	moment,	then	moved	well	back.	"Sit	at	the	table and	put	your	hands	on	it	so	I	can	see	them.	Do	not	move	from	the	table."

"Sure,"	said	Alf.	The	table	in	question	was	a	small,	round	affair	set	to	one side	of	the	living	room,	next	to	a	kitchen	nook.	A	couch	and	chair	with	an entertainment	unit	were	on	the	other	side.	A	door	led	to	bedrooms	and	the bathroom.	It	was	hardly	luxurious	living,	Alf	thought,	but	it	was	clean,	neat,	and comfortable	enough	and	a	major	step	up	from	his	single	room	with	en-suite	in	a run-down	apartment	building.

Ellen	sat	on	the	outer	side	of	the	table,	slapping	her	pistol,	the	safety	still	off, on	the	table,	and	then	slapping	her	police	handcuffs	beside	the	pistol	to	underline her	point.

Alf	caught	his	cue.

"I	only	found	out	where	you	lived	today	when	I	realised	I	had	to	talk	to	you directly,"	he	said	quickly.	"We	go	to	the	same	gym,	remember,	and	I	thought your	address	must	be	on	the	membership	files."

"You	hacked	the	gym's	system?"

"I	didn't	even	have	to	do	that.	I	went	to	the	front	desk,	thinking	I	might	slip the	guy	who	usually	sits	there	a	few	credits	to	take	a	peek	while	he	looked	the other	way,	making	up	a	story	about	someone	owing	me	money.	But	he	wasn't	at the	desk	when	I	went	there,	and	the	desk	unit	was	on.	Didn't	take	long."

"Humph!	I	still	don't	see	why	you	couldn't	have	rung	the	station	and	asked	to be	put	through	to	me."	Ellen	said.

"When	I	went	to	the	gym,	I	was	pulled	into	a	meeting	with	Mr	Charles	and	a couple	of	his	thugs,	and	your	inspector,	Evan	Bara...	something.	I	knew	him	by sight,	but	it	was	the	first	time	I'd	met	him."

Ellen's	face	fell.

"Barastoc,"	she	said.	"Shit!	I	thought	he	was	clean."	She	banged	her	pistol	on the	table	again,	causing	Alf	concern.	The	safety	was	still	off.	"This	crap	is endless."

"As	I	was	going	out,	I	overheard	Mr	Charles	ask	your	inspector	if	his sergeant	could	be	squared,	and	he	said	you'd	ended	up	here	because	you	wouldn't be	in	some	scam."

Ellen	nodded.	"Close	enough.	Alright,	you	came	here	instead	of	the	station, even	if	you	had	to	commit	a	minor	felony	to	do	it.	I'm	still	listening.	What	did Charles	say?"

"He	wanted	me	to	go	out	to	whatever	this	thing	is	–	seems	it's	not	a	crash	–

and	look	at	it.	I	tried	to	get	details	like	what	was	actually	wrong	with	this	piece of	hardware,	or	even	what	it	was,	so	maybe	I	could	take	along	the	right equipment	to	fix	it,	but	no	go.	All	he	would	say	was	that	nothing	worked.	In	the end	we	agreed	on	fifteen	hundred	credits	up	front	for	me	to	go	there	and	see what	needed	to	be	done."

"You're	an	expensive	petty	thief,"	exclaimed	Ellen.

"Risk	must	be	priced	accordingly,	Sergeant,	and	I'm	at	real	risk	in	this.

Initially,	I	asked	for	ten	thousand	without	specifying	that	it	would	be	upfront, and	Charles	smiled	and	agreed."

"He	has	no	intention	of	paying,"	said	Ellen	after	a	moment's	thought.

"I'll	be	kept	out	there	with	a	series	of	excuses	until	I'm	judged	to	no	longer	be of	any	use,	then	killed.	Charles	only	balked	when	I	asked	for	money	upfront	as he'd	have	trouble	getting	it	back."

"Then	why	go	at	all?"

"Too	late	to	back	out,"	said	Alf.	"I	am	about	the	only	person	on	this	rock	that might	be	able	to	fix	whatever	it	is	without	screaming	for	the	cops	–	even	if	they are	in	his	pocket	-	and	If	I	refuse	to	go,	then	Mr	Charles	will	send	his	thugs	to kidnap	me	or,	worse,	grab	someone	I	care	about	and	threaten	them.	At	the moment,	that's	my	boss	and	his	young	family.	We're	not	that	close,	but	I've	had dinner	there	a	couple	of	times,	and	I	couldn't	let	anything	happen	to	them.	If	I go,	well,	I've	been	in	harm's	way	before	and	lived	to	tell	the	tale."

"Why	are	you	telling	me,	then?"	said	Ellen.	"You	can	go	out,	overcome	Mr Charles'	goons,	and	claim	the	ship,	or	whatever	it	is,	for	your	own."

"I	doubt	I'll	be	able	to	do	anything	with	...	the	item,	let's	call	it,	but	I	was hoping	that	if	I	helped	a	certain	rising	police	sergeant	who	would	look	good	on news	conference	cameras..."

"Ha!"	said	Ellen.

"...	locate	whatever	is	out	there,	then	maybe	that	same	rising	police	sergeant, who	in	all	other	respects	is	far	above	me,	will	help	me	go	legit	so	that	I	can	take a	job	with	one	of	the	major	engineering	firms."

"Really?"	said	Ellen,	interested	in	spite	of	herself.	"You	got	an	offer."

"Yep.	An	engineering	firm	wants	to	sponsor	me	to	get	qualified	in	spaceship engineering,	and	I'd	like	to	take	it."

"Humph!"	she	sat	back	and	folded	her	arms.	"Here's	the	thing;	you	see	this little	finger?"	She	showed	Alf	the	little	finger	of	her	left	hand.	"I	won't	stir	even this	to	help	you	until	you	tell	me	who	you	are,	and	no	bullshit."

"I	suppose	that's	fair	enough,"	said	Alf.	"You	recording	this?"

She	shook	her	head.	"Wouldn't	be	of	any	use	without	a	warrant	unless	I	got your	permission."

"Okay,	well,	record	away	if	you	want.	My	real	name	is	Jake	–	Jake	Christian Langston,	and	I	was	a	Captain	in	the	Forgotten	Legion	in	the	Rebellion	on Martus	Prime."

Ellen's	mouth	fell	open.	"What?	How	did	you	end	up	here?"

She	had	heard	of	the	rebellion	and	even	of	the	military	unit,	as	one	of	the rebel	units	able	to	match	the	Imperial	Legions	but	only	as	echoes	of	distant troubles.	Martus	Prime	was	a	good	chunk	of	the	galaxy	away	from	Creaghville.

"To	start	from	the	beginning,	I	come	from	one	of	the	agricultural	settlements way	out	on	Martus	itself,	but	I	managed	to	win	a	slot	at	the	Imperial	Academy	in the	capital.	I'd	finished	the	basic	physics	degree	and	got	into	the	masters	of spaceship	engineering	course	when	the	rebellion	started."

"Then	you	already	knew	something	about	the	advanced	stuff?"	said	Ellen.

"Oh,	sure.	I	knew	enough	to	assist	with	repairing	and	adapting	almost anything	they	could	put	into	space	in	a	cram	course	in	engineering	on	the	fly.	It

was	a	lot	of	fun.	The	Martus	navy	even	won	the	first	couple	of	battles.	But	then

–	and	if	I'd	been	older,	I	might	have	realised	it	was	inevitable	–	the	Imperials	got organised	and	blew	our	navy	to	pieces.	Then	I	was	volunteered	for	the	infantry and	got	altered."

Ellen's	mouth	fell	open	for	the	second	time.

"What?	But	you	look	normal."

"I	am	normal	for	the	most	part	–	I	look	the	same	as	I	did	before	I	started.	But about	half	who	underwent	the	treatment	didn't	make	it	at	all,	and	half	of	the	rest went	psycho.	Those	of	us	who	survived	had	advantages	–	increased mitochondrial	activity	and	all	that	shit	making	us	stronger	and	move	faster	–

although	just	one-quarter	of	those	who	started	the	program	got	the	benefits without	dying	or	going	insane."

"You	agreed	to	try	this?"	exclaimed	Ellen.

"No,	I	didn't.	We	were	told	we'd	be	given	a	few	injections	to	protect	against some	Imperial	bioweapon.	We	were	all	kept	separate,	so	we	didn't	realise	what had	happened	until	after	it	was	all	over,	and	an	Imperial	official	handed	the survivors	copies	of	the	files	kept	on	the	program.	We'd	been	given	special training,	diet	supplements,	and	so	on,	and	we	thought	the	physical	improvements were	due	to	that.	In	reality,	the	interests	behind	the	rebellion	were	desperate	to find	some	way	to	counter	the	Imperial	Legions	in	the	land	battle	they	knew	was coming.	They	figured	that	if	they	could	make	it	too	costly	to	take	the	urban centres,	the	Imperium	would	come	to	some	sort	of	compromise.	We	made	a	real fight	of	it,	but	in	the	end,	the	strategy	didn't	work."

"Quite	a	story,"	said	Ellen.	"What	happened	to	you?"

"For	most	of	those	who	surrendered,	the	proconsul	took	the	American	Civil War	approach.	If	you	handed	in	your	weapons	and	swore	allegiance	to	the Empire,	you	could	go	home,	but	not	those	who	were	altered.	We	were	held	on	an Imperial	Detention	Order	and	subjected	to	all	sorts	of	tests.	I	guess	the	Imperium was	hoping	to	make	super-soldiers	of	its	own	but	without	the	high	wastage	rate.

"After	a	few	months,	I	was	told	that	if	I	wanted	to	be	released,	I	could	join the	auxiliaries	and	fight	for	a	time.	I	wound	up	as	a	sergeant	in	charge	of	a platoon	stationed	at	a	mining	hell	hole	fighting	semi-sentient	worms	that	got their	jollies	from	feeding	on	warm	blooded	creatures.	Not	fun.	Don't	recommend it."

"You	were	a	sergeant	in	the	auxiliaries	as	well?"	said	Ellen.	The	auxiliaries were	either	specialised	support	troops	or	glorified	police	and	protection	units,	as distinct	from	the	assault	troops	of	the	Imperial	Legions.	The	Roman	Empire	had a	similar	system.

"Yep,	for	a	time.	Then	the	whole	unit	was	abandoned."

"Abandoned?"

"The	mining	operations	were	shut	down	and	I	was	told	the	unit	was disbanded,	all	personnel	discharged,	but	everyone	was	to	remain	on	the	planet until	further	notice."

"Okayyy...	but	you	got	out?"

"We	still	had	our	weapons,	and	some	of	the	guys	and	girls	were	talking	about rebelling,	going	rogue,	all	that	sort	of	crap.	I'd	had	enough	of	rebellions	and,	by chance,	I	met	a	freighter	captain	who	was	short	an	engineer.	She	was	the	sole crew	on	the	ship	when	I	met	her	–	and	she,	well,	took	a	fancy	to	me	as	a companion	on	long	trips."

"Ha!"	said	Ellen.	"You	gigoloed	your	way	out?"

"Kinda,	I	guess,	although	it's	different	for	a	guy,	and	I	do	know	my	way around	engines."

"Where	did	the	false	identity	come	from?"

"I	couldn't	move	around	as	Jake	Langston,	at	least	not	in	that	quadrant.	I didn't	have	any	travel	authorisation	and,	if	intercepted,	would	be	sent	straight back.	Somehow,	my	new	friend	knew	a	place	where	identity	capsules	could	be implanted.	Once	one	of	those	is	in	your	arm,	you	can	pass	the	basic	checkpoints at	most	spaceports.	No	need	for	any	travel	documents."

"What	happened	to	the	real	Alf	from	Sulu?"

"No	idea.	I'm	told	it's	possible	to	duplicate	the	capsules,	or	maybe	he	just wanted	it	removed	so	he	may	still	be	around,	but	I	never	met	the	man	and	didn't ask	questions."

"You	ended	up	here?"	said	Ellen.

"When	we	got	to	orbit	here,	we	found	that	my	captain	friend's	husband	was in	town."

"Oops!"	said	Ellen,	amused.

"There	was	some	quick	cleaning	up,	and	I	was	dropped	outside	of	town	with a	few	credits	using	an	escape	chute	straight	into	the	marsh,	which	was	also	not fun	–	icky,	corrosive,	and	dangerous.	I	walked	into	town	and	started	looking	for work.	My	identity	capsule	was	enough	to	get	me	tax	status,	and	nobody	seemed to	care	about	anything	else.	I	can't	move	off	the	planet,	but	at	least	here,	no	one wants	to	kill	me	or	get	me	to	rebel.	However,	I	would	like	my	old	identity	back, along	with	evidence	of	my	basic	degree	and	the	course	work	I	had	done	for	my masters."

Ellen	got	up	from	the	table,	taking	her	pistol	with	her,	grabbed	a	writing	pad from	the	sideboard,	and	slapped	it	in	front	of	Alf.

"Type	out	your	name,	rank,	and	unit	designation	both	for	the	rebellion	and	in the	auxiliaries;	also,	provide	your	friend's	name,	that	of	her	ship,	and	where	the

identity	was	implanted.	I'll	try	not	to	get	your	ex-friend	in	trouble,"	she	added, seeing	Alf	open	his	mouth.	"But	I	need	to	check	everything.	Petty	thieves	are skilled	liars,	and	so	is	my	ex-husband."

"Sure,"	he	said.

"Assuming	any	of	that	long	story	checks	out	in	the	Imperial	archives	here, what	did	you	want	from	me?"

"Part	of	the	reason	for	my	visit	is	just	to	tell	someone	I'm	going	and	what's really	happening.	If	I	don't	make	it	back,	then	you	know	it's	because	I've	been killed	out	there,	and	you	may	be	in	a	position	to	do	something	about	it.	Then there	are	the	transcripts.	If	you're	going	to	check	the	archives,	which	I	can't access,	it's	not	much	extra	effort	to	take	copies	of	my	academic	and	military records."

"I'll	think	about	it,"	said	Ellen	after	a	pause.

"There's	also	the	question	of	tracking	me.	I	thought	you	could	track	me	and get	a	location	on	this	place.	What's	the	range	on	my	capsule?"

"We	can	track	it	for	ten	klicks	out	of	town,"	said	Ellen.	"I	can	also	send	a drone	to	scan	for	it,	but	that	involves	telling	my	inspector	what	I	want	the	drone for."

"I	think	I'm	going	way	beyond	ten	klicks.	You	got	any	tracking	devices	down the	station	I	might	be	able	to	hide	in	my	socks,	anything	like	that?	They'll	search me,	but	they'll	be	looking	for	weapons.

"Nothing	I	can	check	out	without	a	good	explanation.	Why	not	try	that	shop two	blocks	beyond	the	gym?	They've	got	all	sorts	of	stuff	like	combat	knives	and security	equipment."

"I	know	that	place.	Those	bugs	your	offsider	must	have	planted	while	you distracted	me	with	your	feminine	wiles...."

"I	did	nothing	of	the	kind,	Mr	Langston!"	retorted	Ellen,	looking	at	the writing	pad	Alf	had	slid	back	to	her.	“That	cold,	dark	cell	is	still	available	for those	who	make	remarks	like	that."

"...	while	you	were	distracting	me	with	your	forthright	questioning,	I	plan	on leaving	them	in	place	because	they	won't	show	anything."

"How	did	you	know	we'd	put	them	there?"

"A	device	in	the	workshop	scans	every	two	hours	or	so.	It's	an	old	habit	of mine.	Even	Julian	doesn't	know	about	it.	I	don't	suppose	the	devices	can	be repurposed	for	tracking?"

"They're	short	range,"	said	Ellen	after	a	moment's	thought.	"So,	no."

"I'll	be	back	at	about	this	time	tomorrow	night,	sergeant,"	said	Alf,	getting up.

"And	why	will	you	be	coming	back,	Mr	Langston?"	asked	Ellen	sharply.





"I	have	to	show	you	what	arrangements	I've	made	for	tracking	me,	and	for the	moment,	you	should	continue	to	call	me	Scum	or	Slime,	maybe	Alf,	if	you can't	be	bothered	putting	me	down."

"Okay,	Slime,"	said	Ellen.

"Your	inspector	will	also	probably	want	you	now	to	get	off	my	case	–	don't agree	too	easily;	he'll	get	suspicious."

"I'll	just	tell	him	you're	total	scum	and	not	worth	another	moment	of	my day."

"The	sad	thing	is	he	might	believe	you,"	said	Alf.

He	left	with	a	wave	and	a	half	smile.	Ellen	put	her	back	to	the	door,	closed her	eyes,	and	let	her	breathe	out	slowly.	Samantha	was	right;	the	man	had	a presence.	Later,	as	she	was	going	to	bed,	it	occurred	to	Ellen	that	if	Alf/Jake's story	checked	out,	then	he	might	be	almost	datable.	She	pushed	the	thought	to one	side.	She	might	yet	have	to	arrest	him.

CHAPTER	FOUR

When	Alf	knocked	lightly	on	Ellen's	door	the	next	day,	she	let	him	in immediately,	gesturing	at	the	table.	She	was	fully	dressed	this	time	but	without	a jacket	to	semi-conceal	the	shoulder	holster	and	pistol	she	wore.	Alf	noted	that the	safety	was	on.

"Sit	only	at	the	table,"	she	said,	stepping	back.	"Hands	where	I	can	see them."

"I	thought	we	were	past	the	'let	me	see	your	hands'	stage,"	said	Alf.

"You're	scum	until	I	say	otherwise,"	Ellen	said.	She	took	a	folder	off	the sideboard	and	slapped	it	on	the	table.	Despite	all	the	advances	in	technology, paper	still	had	advantages.

"Amazingly,	your	story	checks	out.	Jake	Christian	Langston	rose	through	the ranks	to	become	a	captain	and	commanding	officer	of	the	tenth	independent combat	group	in	the	Forgotten	Legion.	This	time,	the	picture	and	physical description	on	file	match	you.	How	many	people	are	in	those	combat commands?"

"Nominal	strength	was	about	three	hundred,	but	it	was	usually	closer	to	two hundred	and	fifty,"	said	Alf.	"As	well	as	grunts	with	guns,	we	had	medical, comms,	heavy	support	weapons,	and	makeshift	transport	so	that	we	could,	in theory	at	least,	fight	on	our	own	for	long	periods	and	even	run	away convincingly	in	the	transport	–	hence	the	independent	bit	of	the	title."

He	looked	at	the	printouts.	"Ahhhh	yes!	And	my	Academy	transcript.	That saves	me	a	lot	of	trouble.	Thank	you	for	that."

"You're	still	scum,"	said	Ellen.	"Even	if	you	took	two	wounds	and	earned two	bravery	commendations	plus	another	note	of	approval	in	your	file	from	your time	in	the	auxiliaries."

"I	did?"	said	Alf.	He	flicked	through	to	his	auxiliary	record.	"So,	I	did;	that miserable	Imperial	Legion	captain	said	I	ran	my	unit	well.	I	always	thought	he disapproved	of	me	as	rebel	scum.	This	also	says	I've	been	discharged."

"The	archives	say	your	unit	was	disbanded	and	all	members	discharged.	No outstanding	warrants	on	your	name	or	that	of	Alfonso.	But	I	can	still	get	you	on entering	the	colony	illegally,	using	a	false	identity,	and	messing	with	the	gym's membership	system."

In	fact,	Ellen	had	been	impressed	by	Jake/Alf's	academic	and	military	record and	was	interested	that	no	criminal	matter	of	any	consequence	hung	over	him.

Even	the	identity	chop	shop	that	Alf/Jake	had	used	seemed	to	have	been	shut

down	in	a	police	action.	The	offenses	of	illegal	entry	and	using	a	fake	identity could	be	glossed	over	by	a	colony	that	wanted	to	attract	skilled	people,	not	throw them	in	jail.	But	she	was	not	about	to	acknowledge	any	of	that.

"Don't	sound	so	disappointed,"	said	Alf.	"Can	I	keep	this	folder?"

"I	included	a	digital	dot,	but	sure.	As	for	getting	your	identity	back	if	we	can shed	some	more	light	on	the	activities	of	Mr	Charles,	then	I	may	lift	my	other little	finger	to	help	on	that	count."

"Here's	where	I'm	supposed	to	meet	the	transport."	Alf	handed	over	a	note.

"It's	early	morning."

"Not	far	from	here,"	said	Ellen,	looking	at	it.	"On	the	edge	of	town.	You'll	be in	their	hands."

"They	won't	kill	me	yet.	They	need	me	to	look	at	whatever	is	out	there,	and I'll	give	you	this."	He	put	a	small	device	about	the	same	size	as	a	business	card, albeit	somewhat	thicker	and	heavier,	on	the	table	and	slid	it	across	to	Ellen.

"What	this?"

"I	don't	dare	ask	for	your	number,	so	here	is	the	twin	of	a	tracking	device	I bought	at	that	shop."	Alf	also	had	bought	a	small	knife	he	could	conceal	in	his boot,	but	he	was	not	about	to	admit	to	that.	"I'll	get	the	other	past	the	inevitable searches.	The	tracking	data	will	show	on	your	device,	as	well	as	text	messages and	images,	and	you	can	send	the	material	to	your	other	devices.	You'll	see	I'm listed	as	scum	in	the	contacts."

Ellen	smiled	slightly	despite	herself.

"You're	beginning	to	understand	your	importance	in	this	colony,"	she	said.

"That's	good."

"As	for	the	rest,	we'll	have	to	wing	it,	and	I'd	best	go	before	your	neighbours start	wondering	why	that	strange	man	they	saw	come	in	is	staying	so	long.	Keep an	eye	on	the	device."

"I	will,	although	you're	still	scum."

"Now	I	know	all	the	right	people	despise	me,"	said	Alf,	standing	up.

He	was	at	the	door	before	she	could	say	anything	–	she	had	previously debated	whether	to	offer	coffee	but	eventually	decided	it	would	be	a	bad	idea	–

and	had	closed	the	door	before	she	could	say	"take	care"	softly.

Early	the	next	morning,	Alf	arrived	at	the	pickup	point	–	a	dusty	intersection on	the	edge	of	Marshland	-	to	find	two	others,	a	man	and	a	woman	of	about undergraduate	age,	dressed	as	if	they	had	just	come	from	lectures.	They	also carried	packs	with	clothes	and	night	gear	as	they	had	all	been	instructed.

"Who	are	you?"	asked	the	male,	a	slight,	bespectacled	youth.

"Alf,	an	engineer	–	waiting	for	Mr	Charles'	men."	Alf	may	have	revealed	his true	identity	to	Ellen,	but	he	would	call	himself	Alfonso	for	now	as	that	was	the

name	Mr	Charles'	thugs	knew	him	by.

"Oh,	okay,"	said	the	youth.	"Brian,	computer	science.	Also	waiting	for them."

They	shook	hands.

"Elsbeth,"	said	the	girl,	an	intense	looking	person	with	lank,	blonde	hair framing	a	narrow	face.	"Linguistics."

"Linguistics?"	asked	Alf.	"How	come	we	need	a	linguist?"

Elbereth	shrugged.	"They're	paying	me	good	money	to	come,	and	a	PhD	in linguistics	is	not	a	money	spinner	in	this	colony."

"Guess	not,"	said	Alf.

Before	they	could	talk	further,	the	pickup	vehicle	arrived	–	a	semi-automated furniture	van	with	all	signage	and	emblems	on	the	worn-looking	canopy	painted over.	The	van	pulled	up	in	front	of	them	without	ceremony	and	disgorged	three of	Mr	Charles'	thugs,	including	Alf's	old	friend	Thumper,	grinning	evilly.	Alf allowed	himself	to	be	grabbed	by	this	thug	and	thrown	into	the	back	of	the	van, where	benches	had	been	installed.	Brian	and	Elbereth	were	flung	in	beside	him, protesting.	Alf	had	time	to	note	that	the	front	half	of	the	van	was	filled	with boxes	and	assorted	equipment,	including	what	seemed	to	be	a	large	diesel generator,	before	Thumper	turned	him	around	and	pushed	him	face	first	against the	wall.

"Hands	against	the	wall,	scum,"	he	said.

Alf	thought	it	was	much	nicer	when	Ellen	called	him	scum.	Thumper searched	him	briefly,	taking	his	phone	assistant	but	missing	the	tracking	device Alf	had	taped	to	his	chest,	then	cuffed	the	engineer's	hands	behind	his	back	with electronic	restraints,	slammed	him	down	on	the	bench,	and	dropped	a	hood	over his	head.	Alf	could	hear	the	other	two	protesting	as	they	got	the	same	treatment.

Some	distance	off,	concealed	in	some	stunted	trees,	Ellen	was	watching	this byplay	through	her	standard-issue	police	electronic	binoculars	with	concern.	All three	persons	had	been	waiting	calmly,	so	why	treat	them	like	that?	She	looked at	the	tracking	device	Alf	had	given	her.	There	had	been	a	signal	just	before.

Now,	there	was	none.	The	van	canopy	might	be	metallic.	Would	that	block	the signal?	Ellen	did	not	know.	She	could	at	least	run	the	van's	number	plates	and	try to	identify	the	thugs	from	the	video	recordings	made	automatically	by	her binoculars.	Even	in	the	far	reaches	of	the	galaxy,	police	work	followed	certain procedures.

In	the	back	of	the	van,	Thumper	was	gloating.

"Now	we'll	see	who's	the	tough	guy,"	he	said	as	the	van	drove	off.

Alf	supposed	the	remark	was	directed	at	him.

"You	two	go	and	sit	in	the	driver's	cabin,"	Thumper	snarled.

"Mr	Charles	said	not	to	leave	you	alone	with	our	consultants,"	said	one	of	the thugs.	"Especially	after	what	happened	with	the	last	one."

"Last	one?"	thought	Alf.

"He's	not	here;	I	am,"	said	Thumper.	"Don't	worry,	I	won't	damage	'em.

Maybe	warm	up	Alf	a	bit."

"The	big	'un?"	said	the	other	thug.

"Yeah,	he	outsmarted	Thumper	in	front	of	Mr	Charles	a	couple	of	days back,"	said	the	first	thug.	"Now	he	wants	pay	back."

"No	one	outsmarted	anyone	else,"	said	Thumper,	"but	Alf	here	wants	some learning."	He	lashed	out,	thumping	Alf	on	the	side	of	the	head,	knocking	him into	Brian.

"We	didn't	sign	up	for	this,"	squawked	Brian	from	inside	his	hood.	"Why	do this?"

"Why	handcuff	us?"	Elsbeth	said	indignantly,	her	voice	also	muffled	by	a hood.	"We're	not	going	to	do	anything."

"Shuddup!"	snarled	Thumper.	"No	noise,	and	I	might	forget	you	exist.	Get lost,	you	two."

The	last	command	was	apparently	addressed	to	the	two	thugs,	who,	as	far	as Alf	could	judge	from	the	noise,	moved	off	to	the	driver's	cabin	through	a	sliding door.	The	vehicle	was	self-driving,	but	even	with	all	the	advances	in	AI,	it	was still	a	good	idea	to	have	a	human	upfront.

"Now	we	can	have	a	few	words,"	said	Thumper	in	a	nasty	voice	after	a	few moments.

"Is	this	the	part	where	we	bond?"	asked	Alf.	His	reward	was	another smashing	blow,	knocking	him	into	Brian,	who,	in	turn,	fell	into	Elsbeth.	Both youths	fell	to	the	floor,	squawking.

Alf	thought	that	this	had	to	stop	before	someone	got	hurt.

"You	know	what	I	hate,"	Thumper	said,	grabbing	the	front	of	Alf's	tee-shirt in	his	left	hand.	"It's	smart	arses."

Alf	pulled	away	from	him,	forcing	Thumper	to	pull	harder	while	at	the	same time	crouching	down,	half	off	the	bench	with	his	legs	coiled	underneath	him.	He could	not	see	Thumper	but	as	the	thug	was	trying	to	pull	him	up,	he	thought	he knew	about	where	his	face	would	be.	Alf	lowered	his	head	and	sprang	forward with	all	the	strength	of	his	legs,	his	body	a	battering	ram.	His	covered	head connected	with	Thumper's	face,	driving	it	hard	and	smashing	the	back	of	the thug's	skull	into	the	side	of	the	van.	He	head-butted	Thumper	twice	more,	using his	legs	and	body	as	a	powerful	hammer.	Alf	stood	back	and	shook	his	hood	off as	his	opponent	slid	to	the	floor,	unconscious,	face	covered	in	blood.

The	two	youths	were	whimpering.

"What's	going	on?"	squeaked	Elsbeth.

The	sliding	door	from	the	driver's	cabin	jerked	twice,	then	the	thug	inside banged	on	it.

"Thumper,	open	up!"	yelled	the	thug.	"What	are	you	doing	to	the consultants?"

Thumper	had	locked	the	sliding	door	and	there	was	no	window.

"They're	all	fine,"	said	Alf	in	what	he	hoped	was	a	passable	imitation	of Thumper's	snarl.	"Tell	us	when	we're	close."

Alf's	snarl	was	sufficiently	convincing	to	make	the	thug	in	the	driver's	cabin stop	rattling	the	door.	The	soldier	searched	the	unconscious	Thumper's	pockets for	the	electronic	key	and	then,	after	some	fiddling,	managed	to	insert	the	card	in his	cuff.	He	knew	about	electronic	handcuffs	from	his	time	in	an	Imperial	prison.

Once	freed,	he	grabbed	Thumper	and	flung	him	so	that	his	face	connected	with the	edge	of	a	container	in	the	heap	of	goods	on	the	far	side	of	the	van.	After some	thought,	Alf	used	his	hood	to	wipe	the	blood	off	Thumper's	face	–	not because	he	cared	about	the	thug	at	all	but	to	disguise	the	fact	that	his	hood	had blood	on	it	-	then	freed	the	other	two.

"What	happened	to	that	guy?"	said	Elsbeth,	going	up	to	Thumper.	"There's blood!"

"Think	he	tripped	while	belting	me,	with	you	two	as	collateral	damage.	He went	quiet	for	a	while,	so	I	shook	off	my	hood	and	found	him	like	that.	Then	I got	the	key."	Alf	knew	his	story	would	not	hold	up	for	a	moment	under	careful examination,	but	he	didn't	think	anyone	would	care	enough	to	ask	questions.

"You	know	how	those	cuffs	work?"	asked	Brian.

"Just	to	get	off	and	on.	I've	had	a	varied	career."

"Shouldn't	we	do	something	for	him?"	said	Elsbeth.

"Why?"	asked	Alf.	"To	remind	you	of	very	recent	events,	that	guy	cuffed you,	stuck	your	head	in	a	sack,	and	was	thumping	you	–	albeit	indirectly.	I	was getting	it	directly,	which	was	no	fun.	He's	still	alive,	which	is	a	shame,	and seems	to	be	breathing	strongly	enough,	so	leave	him."

Elsbeth	shrugged	and	sat	down	again.

"Now	we	can	talk	about	how	we	came	here,"	said	Alf.

The	two	youths	were	students	at	the	local	university	who	had	answered	an online	ad	about	work	that	paid	well	but	had	to	be	kept	confidential.	Brian	had	a knack	for	hacking,	or	so	he	said.	Elsbeth's	inclinations	had	led	her	to	study language	structures	and,	eventually,	to	big-picture	ideas	about	the	nature	of languages.	She	had	been	told	her	skills	might	be	put	to	good	use.

"Do	you	speak	any	other	languages?"	asked	Alf.

"Some	French."

"Were	either	of	you	told	anything	about	a	crashed	spaceship?"

They	both	shook	their	heads,	obviously	surprised.

"Is	that	what	you	were	told?"	said	Brian.

"I	know	something	about	phase	drive	systems	and	ship	reactors,	but	I	can't see	what	a	crashed	ship	would	be	doing	beyond	the	marshlands	or	why	it wouldn't	be	a	total	wreck	they	could	claim	as	salvage."

"Guess	we'll	know	soon	enough,"	said	Elsbeth.

They	talked	about	how	much	they	were	being	paid.	Both	had	been	promised thousands	of	credits,	but	neither	had	thought	to	ask	for	any	of	the	money	upfront.

Alf	was	tempted	to	tell	his	new	colleagues	that	he	suspected	they	had	stuck	their heads	in	a	noose.	But	then	thought	that	they	might	panic,	and	that	might	cause problems.	Privately,	he	vowed	to	keep	them	alive	if	he	possibly	could.

Eventually,	the	van	turned	off	the	sealed	road	onto	a	desert	track.	The	marsh just	behind	the	suburb	of	Marshland	was	watered	by	streams	from	distant mountains,	but	otherwise,	the	area	got	little	rain,	meaning	that	it	was	hot, waterless,	and	unattractive	scrub.	After	a	few	minutes,	the	road	started	rising, and	they	climbed	to	a	plateau,	so	that	at	least	it	was	cooler	than	on	the Creaghville	plain,	but	the	country	remained	barren	and	largely	featureless.

After	another	half	an	hour	of	bouncing	around	on	the	dirt	track,	the	truck stopped.	Alf	pushed	the	back	doors	open	and	stepped	out	into	a	large	area covered	by	some	form	of	plastic	sheeting	supported	by	metal	poles.	There	were several	tents	in	this	area	–	self-erecting	affairs	bought	from	sports	stores,	or	so Alf	suspected	–	two	cars	and	more	equipment	in	piles.	At	one	end	was	a	gate with	at	least	one	guard	that	Alf	could	see.	At	the	other	was	an	excavation	set	into the	side	of	a	hill,	protected	by	a	wire	security	fence.

One	of	the	thugs	from	the	van	appeared,	relieved	to	find	the	"consultants"

had	been	released	and	were	unharmed.

"Where	did	Thumper	go?"	he	asked.

"Still	in	the	back,"	said	Alf,	jerking	his	thumb	at	the	van.	"Whatever's	behind that	fence	might	be	what	we	were	called	here	to	investigate,"	he	said	to	the others.	"Let's	take	a	look."

They	threw	their	packs	beside	one	of	the	tents	–	Alf	taking	a	moment	to	palm the	tracking	device	from	the	sheath	strapped	to	his	chest	and	slip	it	into	one	of the	pockets	–	and	walked	towards	the	fence.	The	thug	came	back.

"What	the	fuck	happened	to	Thumper?"	he	asked.

"Seems	to	have	tripped	or	something,"	said	Alf	over	his	shoulder.	"He	was thumping	me	and	knocking	me	into	the	others;	then	he	was	quiet	for	a	while.	I shook	off	my	hood,	and	he	was	like	that."

"Yeah?"	said	the	thug.	"He's	taken	a	hell	of	a	knock."





"Look	closely,"	said	Alf,	turning	to	face	the	thug.	"Do	we	care?	You	guys cuffed	us,	put	hoods	on	us,	and	he	started	belting	me.	We	didn't	sign	on	for	any of	that."

"Yeah,	we	didn't,"	said	Elsbeth.	"That	guy	terrified	me."

"I	checked	he	was	still	breathing	and	left	him,"	said	Alf.	"I	was	going	to open	the	back	door	and	kick	him	out	but	then	thought	that	someone	might	miss him."

"He	won't	be	too	happy	when	he	wakes	up,"	said	the	thug.

"Uh	huh!"	said	Alf,	turning	away.	"Maybe	you	can	get	Mr	Charles	to	open	a hospital	wing	for	him."

The	fence	had	a	gate	that	was	not	locked	and	a	sign	that	said,	'Authorised Personnel	Only',	which	they	ignored.

"Who's	Mr	Charles,"	asked	Brian	as	they	opened	the	gate.

"The	gangster	boss	running	this	whole	thing,"	said	Alf.	"Those	guys	work	for him.	Thumper's	one	of	his	chief	enforcers.	You	didn't	meet	him	before	coming here?"

"No,	I	just	had	an	interview	with	a	woman	at	a	recruitment	agency,"	said Brian.	"No	one	said	anything	about	gangsters	to	me."

"Nor	me,"	said	Elsbeth.

Beyond	was	a	metallic	ramp	that	led	down	to	the	bottom	of	a	pit.	On	the	far side	of	that	pit,	hidden	underneath	an	overhang,	was	a	metal	hatch.	Much	shorter and	somewhat	narrower	than	the	hatches	Alf	was	used	to,	the	hatch	was	inset into	a	white,	concrete-like	wall.	It	had	a	security	lock	with	a	keypad	set	in	the concrete	on	one	side,	but	the	symbols	on	the	keypad	writing	on	the	door	were entirely	unfamiliar.

"Looks	like	a	cross	between	cuneiform	and	Anglo-Saxon	runes,"	said	Elsbeth.

Several	more	words	in	the	same	script	were	stamped	on	the	hatch,	with another	single	symbol	set	above	it	to	the	right.

"This	no	ship,"	said	Alf.	"And	it's	alien."

CHAPTER	FIVE

On	his	way	out	to	lunch,	Inspector	Evan	Barastoc	stopped	at	Detective	Sergeant Ellen	Pullen's	desk.

"Sent	you	a	couple	of	items,"	he	said.	"How's	the	domestic	assault	going?"

"Interviewed	everyone,"	said	Ellen.	After	some	debate	with	herself,	she	had decided	not	to	say	anything	to	Barastoc	about	his	being	in	league	with	the	local gangster	for	now.	The	last	time	she	kicked	up	a	fuss	about	corruption,	she	ended up	divorced	in	the	Marshlands	stations,	albeit	with	a	promotion	to	sergeant.	She would	bide	her	time.	"Got	the	hospital	reports.	Just	compiling	the	evidence	brief now."

"All	good,	but	the	brief	won't	be	wanted	for	a	few	days.	You	can	check	out that	other	stuff."

Ellen	had	been	pulled	off	her	inquiries	at	the	spaceport	the	day	after	Alf appeared	at	her	door	and	given	a	string	of	investigations,	the	juiciest	of	which had	been	the	domestic	assault	against	a	sex	worker	by	the	girl's	partner.	The	girl had	been	left	for	dead,	and	the	man,	a	total	pig,	had	been	amazed	that	the	police cared	enough	to	investigate,	and	so	enraged	that	a	female	detective	was	leading the	investigation	that	he	had	blurted	out	admissions	in	the	interrogation.	This sort	of	investigation	made	a	difference,	but	Ellen	also	knew	that	it	had	been thrown	at	her	to	keep	her	busy	so	that	she	would	not	check	again	on	Alf.

"Beaten	up	guy	in	hospital,"	she	said,	reading	the	first	item	on	her	screen.

"Could	be	anything."

"Hospital	thought	enough	of	it	to	pass	on	an	alert.	It's	not	a	gunshot	wound, so	we're	not	obliged	to	do	anything	but	go	and	talk	to	the	man.	See	if	he	has anything	to	say	for	himself."

"Okay!"	Ellen	looked	at	the	next	item.	"Dognapping?"

Barastoc	shrugged.	"The	perpetrators	of	this	crime	are	asking	for	two thousand	credits	for	the	return	of...	what	was	the	animal's	name?"

"Poppy.	A	cocker	spaniel	cross."

"There	you	are,	a	much-loved	member	of	the	family	has	gone	missing,"	said Barastoc,	"and	two	thousand	credits	is	enough	for	us	to	pay	attention."

The	inspector	wandered	off,	and	Ellen	checked	the	tracking	device	Alf	had given	her.	The	signal	had	vanished	for	a	couple	of	hours	after	Alf	had	been thrown	in	the	van	but	had	reappeared	and	had	been	static	for	some	time.	She	had been	able	to	access	routine	satellite	pictures	of	the	area	with	a	surprisingly	good resolution	without	anyone	asking	questions.	There	was	nothing	immediately

obvious	at	the	location,	but	on	looking	closely,	Ellen	realized	that	a	rough vehicle	track	led	up	to	the	spot	and	then	vanished.	Under	magnification,	she could	see	a	hint	here	and	there	of	the	edges	of	a	carefully	camouflaged	roof	–

enough	to	mark	out	its	area.	Wherever	Alf	had	ended	up,	someone	was	taking great	pains	to	conceal	what	was	happening.	How	interesting!

Being	a	conscientious	police	officer	Ellen	had	opened	an	investigation	file but	had	kept	it	out	of	the	police	database.	Thanks	to	the	satellite	photographs, initial	notes,	and	tracing	the	ownership	of	the	van,	the	file	was	starting	to	look respectable	–	albeit	without	any	evidence	of	a	major	felony.

Senior	Constable	Samanta	Pye	stopped	at	Ellen's	desk	to	report.

"Finished	the	statements	on	the	assault	boss,"	she	said.	"Anything	else?"

"I'm	going	off	to	talk	to	a	beat-up	guy	in	the	hospital,	and	you	get	the dognapping	case."

"Dognapping?"	said	Samantha.

"Sure,"	said	Ellen.	"Poppy	is	missing."

At	the	desert	site,	Alf's	new	colleagues	were	discussing	his	verdict	on	the hatchway.

"How	do	you	know	it's	alien?"	Brian	asked.	"It	could	be	a	door	with	funny writing	on	it."

"These	markings	look	like	standard	messages	you	might	find	stamped	on	a hatch	anywhere,	but	I've	never	seen	letters	like	this.	I	mean,	apart	from	Roman letters	on	Earth	they	have	what?	Latin	letters,	then	Cyrillic	and	Greek.	The Chinese	have	pictograms;	the	Koreans	have	a	phonetic	system.	Hindi	has	a different	alphabet,	but	nothing	I've	seen	looks	anything	like	this."

"I	haven't	either,"	said	Ellen.	"If	humans	did	this,	why	wouldn't	they	use	one of	the	major	languages?"

"But	an	alien	installation	or	whatever	out	this	way?"	said	Brian.	"We're	just	a place	everyone	passes	through	to	go	somewhere	else."

"That's	true,"	said	Alf,	"but	we	won't	settle	the	argument	by	looking	at	the hatch.	Any	chance	you	can	do	something	with	the	keypad."

"No	power,"	said	Brian.	"Even	if	I	figured	out	what	to	bypass,	it	wouldn't	do anything."

"That's	also	true,"	said	Alf.	But	if	it's	anything	like	the	hatches	on	major ships,	there's	usually	some	manual	override	close	by	that	only	works	if	the power's	gone	entirely.	Let's	look."

Two	short-handled	camper	spades	and	a	steel	rod	that	had	evidently	been used	for	probing	were	nearby.	Within	a	meter	of	the	hatch,	they	found	a	metal box	showing	signs	of	corrosion,	kept	locked	by	a	simple	metal	pin.	This contained	a	small	control	pad	with	two	buttons,	which	also	proved	to	be	dead.

"Might	have	had	an	independent	power	supply,	but	the	battery	or	whatever	is totally	flat,"	said	Alf.

"We	could	jack	in	power	for	this,	at	least,"	said	Brian.	"I	think	I	can	get	the cover	off,	but	power	tools	would	help."

"Lots	of	equipment	up	top,"	said	Alf,	let's	check	that	stuff	out.	"In	the meantime,	Elsbeth	what	are	you	like	at	sketching	and	drafting?"

"Totally	crap	at	sketching."

"See	if	you	can	find	a	notebook	and	measuring	tape	and	put	together	some sort	of	plan	of	the	area.	You	see,	we're	standing	on	a	concrete	platform."

"We	are?"

Alf	kicked	some	of	the	dirt	to	reveal	a	patch	of	concrete	underneath.	"This must've	been	the	front	porch.	See	if	you	can	find	out	anything	about	its	size	and shape.	Take	pics	of	the	door,	the	control	panel,	and	so	on	with	this	device."	He handed	her	the	tracking	device	he	had	bought,	which	also	took	pictures	and	sent text.	Alf	had	not	thought	how	important	those	features	would	be	when	he	got	it but	was	now	very	glad	that	the	device	had	that	capability.	"Just	don't	let	our friends	see	you	use	it,	or	they'll	want	to	take	it	off	you	like	they	took	our	digital assistants."

"Gotit,"	said	Elsbeth.

The	thug	who	had	questioned	them	before	came	down	the	ramp,	saw	the	box they	had	discovered,	and	was	told	what	they	were	doing.

"Do	you	guys	know	what	happened	to	the	electronic	key?"

"You	mean	the	key	to	the	cuffs?	I	threw	it	away,"	said	Alf.	In	fact,	it	was buried	in	the	dirt	beneath	the	recently	discovered	emergency	hatch	opening	box.

"What	did	you	do	that	for?"	said	the	thug.

"Do	I	have	to	go	through	the	'we	don't	care'	speech	again?	We	need	some tools	for	this	thing."	Alf	pointed	at	the	newly	discovered	box.

The	thug	thought	that	there	was	nothing	to	be	gained	from	arguing	with	Alf.

"Boxes	to	the	right	at	the	top	of	the	ramp,"	he	said	eventually,	turning	away.	He would	deal	with	Alf	later.	Among	other	pressing	jobs	to	hand	he	had	to	take Thumper	to	hospital.

When	Ellen	arrived	at	the	hospital	bedside	of	the	‘accident	victim’	she	found the	man's	face	swathed	in	bandages,	but	the	bits	she	could	see	had	that	same	evil look	as	the	man	she	had	recorded	throwing	Alf	and	two	others	into	a	van	early that	morning.

"You've	had	quite	a	fall,	Mr	Bianchi,"	said	Ellen	after	introducing	herself	and looking	at	the	patient's	medical	chart.	"Fractured	eye	socket	and	cheekbone	and broken	nose,	but	no	injuries	to	the	chest	or	body	indicating	a	fall,	and	major

bruising	on	the	back	of	the	head.	You	told	the	hospital	staff	you	fell	off	a ladder."

"Yeah."

"What	were	you	doing	up	the	ladder?"

"Setting	up	decorations."

"Really,	what	were	you	celebrating?"

Bianchi	thought	about	that	for	a	moment,	his	one	good	eye,	pending	work	on the	socket	on	the	other	eye,	glinting.	He	had	been	interviewed	by	police	before.

"My	good	health."

"Which	has	taken	quite	a	turn.	Where	did	this	decorating	effort	take	place?"

"Don't	remember."

"Don't	remember	or	just	don't	wish	to	say,	Mr	Bianchi?"

"Whatever."

"Did	this	fall	happen	to	take	place	in	the	back	of	a	moving	van,	Mr	Bianchi?'

The	thug's	good	eye	stared	at	Ellen	in	astonishment,	and	the	policewoman knew	that	he	was	the	same	man.

"What	van?	Why	are	you	talking	about	vans?"

"I	was	just	guessing,	Mr	Bianchi."	It	occurred	to	Ellen	that	she	might	have said	too	much.	"Is	there	anything	you	want	to	tell	the	police	about	this	incident?"

"Nah!"	he	said.

Ellen	gave	Bianchi	her	card	with	the	station	number,	which	was	procedure, and	left	thinking	that	now	she	had	more	to	put	into	her	investigation	file,	but without	realising	the	trouble	she	had	caused	for	herself	by	mentioning	the	van.

Back	at	the	desert	site,	after	almost	two	hours	of	fiddling	with	the	emergency control	panel,	the	two	would-be	door	jackers	finally	hit	the	right	combination	of connections	and	jacked-in	voltage	from	an	instrument	testing	device	they	had found	amongst	the	stacks	of	equipment	at	the	site,	to	be	rewarded	by	a	distinct

'click'.	The	hatch	reluctantly	gave	way,	but	the	only	thing	revealed	was	a	narrow stairway	leading	down	to	a	second	hatch	with	another	security	panel	and	more	of the	mysterious	writing.	But	this	time,	there	were	no	override	controls	that	they could	see;	even	after	bringing	down	lights	connected	to	a	generator,	they	had come	with	them	in	the	furniture	truck.

Just	as	Alf	and	Brian	were	discussing	the	necessity	of	levering	off	the	second control	panel	and	shooting	some	power	into	that	from	the	generator,	the	thug reappeared,	crowding	into	the	small	space	in	front	of	the	second	door.

"Mr	Charles	wants	updates.	I	see	you	got	the	first	hatch	open;	when	do	you think	you	can	get	past	this	hatch?"

"Listen...	what	was	your	name?"	said	Alf.

"Hutch."

"Listen,	Hutch,	we're	dealing	with	alien	tech	in	a	confined	space,	you	tell	me how	long	it	might	take."

"Alien	tech?"

"Look	at	the	writing.	Sure,	some	human	sect	or	group	or	whatever	might have	had	their	own	funny	writing	system	and	got	out	this	far,	but	none	of	that seems	likely.	Other	than	that,	we	don't	know	anything	apart	from	the	fact	that	it'll be	lunch	soon."

"Yeah,	lunch,"	said	Brian.

"Mr	James	wants	you	to	keep	working."

"Tell	Mr	James	we'll	work	better	when	we've	eaten,"	said	Alf.	"It's	been	a long	day."

Hutch	left,	muttering,	but	the	consultants	got	their	lunch	–	sandwiches brought	from	a	vending	machine	in	Creaghville	on	a	trestle	table	set	up	among the	tents	-	with	Alf	taking	advantage	of	the	break	to	slip	into	his	tent	and	send details	of	the	site	and	his	new	colleagues	to	Ellen	on	the	tracking	device's	twin.

He	included	pictures	of	the	inner	and	outer	doors	taken	by	Elsbeth.	As	it happened,	Elle	was	at	her	desk	and	could	shoot	back	a	text	response.	The device's	services	did	not	extend	to	phone	conversations.

"Saw	badly	beat	up	guy,	an	offsider	of	Mr	Charles,	in	hospital,"	she	wrote.

"Do	you	know	anything	about	that?"

"Must	be	a	workplace	safety	incident,"	typed	Alf,	sitting	on	the	bunk	in	his allocated	tent.	The	device	included	a	small	stylus	for	him	to	pick	out	letters	on	a keyboard	displayed	on	a	touch-sensitive	screen.	"The	workplace	can	be hazardous,	as	you	know."

"Workplace	hazards	my	rear	end,"	wrote	Ellen.	"This	guy	tried	to	tell	me	he fell	off	a	ladder,	but	I	don't	believe	that	either."

"And	a	charming	rear	end	it	is,	too,"	wrote	Alf.	"And	before	you	can	call	me scum	or	threaten	me	with	jail	time	for	that	remark,	I'm	outa	here.	I've	got	alien tech	to	deal	with."

"Scum!"	said	Ellen	to	the	device,	but	she	found	herself	smiling	as	she dropped	the	device	into	the	top	drawer	of	her	desk.	She	had	been	concerned	over the	safety	of	Alf's	two	consultants,	but	the	sight	of	Thumper	in	hospital	had reassured	her	that	Alf	should	be	able	to	handle	the	situation.	In	any	case,	Ellen still	had	no	legal	cause	to	do	anything	at	all.

Back	at	the	desert	campsite,	while	Elsbeth	sat	outside	and	studied	copies	of the	writing	examples	they	had	found	to	date	–	sketches	rather	than	images	so	that the	thugs	would	not	catch	sight	of	the	recording	device	–	Alf	and	Brian	finally levered	off	the	control	panel	cover	on	the	second	hatch	to	be	confronted	by	a series	of	metal	plates	and	printed	circuits	connected	to	a	cable.





"Looks	like	fibre	optic,"	said	Alf	of	the	cable.

"Fibre	optic	for	a	door	security	panel?"	asked	Brian.

Alf	shrugged.	"Quality	installation,	I	guess.	At	least	we	know	our	alien friends	didn't	do	things	by	halves."

That	still	left	the	problem	of	getting	the	door	open,	and	they	went	back	to connecting	various	metal	surfaces	with	alligator	clips	and	shooting	voltages through	them,	mainly	using	the	instrument	testing	device.	At	one	point,	they made	the	panel	at	the	top	of	the	device	glow,	although	nothing	appeared	on	the display.	Another	time,	they	got	one	of	the	buttons	to	glow.	They	took	to	writing notes	on	slips	of	paper	taped	to	sections	of	the	metal	surfaces.	Then	Brian accidentally	tapped	the	end	of	one	clip	to	a	piece	of	metal	he	was	not	aiming	for.

The	door	clicked,	swung	slightly,	and	the	air	pressure	equalised	with	a	sigh.

They	were	in,	or	so	they	thought.

Alf	pulled	the	lever	on	the	hatch	and	pushed	the	assembly	inwards.	The	lever was	stiff,	and	the	hatch	creaked	a	little,	but	otherwise,	it	moved	surprisingly easily	for	a	piece	of	engineering	that	had	not	been	used	in	a	long	time.

"Whoa!"	breathed	Brian.	He	called	for	Elsbeth	as	Alf	pushed	the	door	further open	to	reveal	a	dark	corridor.	The	light	they	had	been	using	was	on	the	end	of	a pole	mounted	on	a	tripod.	Alf	took	the	pole	off	the	tripod	and	pushed	it	through the	hatch.	On	closer	inspection,	the	corridor	proved	to	be	an	undecorated anteroom,	floor	covered	in	dust.	On	one	side	was	a	series	of	pegs,	one	of	which still	held	what	could	have	been	a	hazmat	suit	too	small	for	most	adult	humans; on	the	other	were	two	doors.	After	they	advanced	cautiously	into	the	room, sniffing	the	air,	they	discovered	that	the	doors	led	to	a	dusty	shower	room	with another	security	lock	hatch	at	one	end.

"Maybe	a	decontamination	shower,"	said	Alf.	"That	hatch	must	lead	to	the place	where	they	put	their	day	wear	back	on."

"No	male,	female,	separation,"	said	Elsbeth,	eagerly	sketching	the	various labels	they	encountered	and	sneaking	the	occasional	pic	with	Alf's	small	device.

She	was	putting	together	an	alphabet,	for	what	that	was	worth,	but	had	no	idea what	any	of	the	words	in	the	writing	they	could	see	meant.

"Another	lock	to	get	through,"	said	Brian.

After	an	hour	of	messing	with	clips	and	voltages,	with	Elsbeth	busy sketching	whatever	she	could	see,	the	door	clicked,	then	smashed	open.	Elsbeth would	have	been	swept	off	her	feet,	but	Alf	grabbed	her	arm.	Brian	braced himself	against	a	wall.	The	hatch	smashed	shut,	then	opened	several	times, eventually	to	stay	open,	the	wild	blasts	of	air	settling	down	into	a	steady	breeze.

"Now	it	looks	like	we're	in,"	said	Alf.

CHAPTER	SIX

Mr	Charles	was	not	one	to	scare	easily.	In	fact,	he	did	the	scaring.	But	he	was wary	of	the	supreme	crime	boss	of	Creaghville,	a	Mr	Acheron.	Very	few	people knew	of	Mr	Acheron's	role	as	ultimate	crime	boss	in	the	settlement,	and	a	few	of those	who	did	were	still	alive	because	Mr	Acheron	did	not	realise	that	they knew.	He	was	also	the	main	power	behind	the	alien	dig.	Now	Mr	Acheron	was on	the	phone	with	Mr	Charles,	one	of	several	underlings	through	which	he conducted	business,	and	he	wanted	to	know	things.

"Passed	the	first	hatch,	you	say?"	said	Mr	Acheron.

"Last	I	heard,	they	were	still	trying	to	open	the	second	hatch,	Mr	Acheron,"

said	Mr	Charles.	"But	they're	working	blind	with	strange	circuits."

"I'm	impressed	they	got	the	first	hatch	open	so	quickly,"	said	Mr	Acheron.

Mr	Charles	let	out	a	quiet	sigh	of	relief.	"Progress	cannot	be	forecast	in	these things,	and	we	knew	the	facility	was	abandoned	a	long	time	ago.	When	they	do get	full	access,	you	know	our	priorities?"

"Yes,	Mr	Acheron,	I'll	make	sure	of	it."

"In	the	meantime,	I'm	concerned	that	someone	has	been	looking	at	files	of the	rebellion	at	Martus	Prime	in	the	Imperial	archives	here."

"Is	that	a	matter	of	concern,	Mr	Acheron?	Martus	Prime	is	a	long	way	from here,	and	the	rebellion	is	over."

"Yes,	the	empire	crushed	it,"	said	Mr	Acheron.	"But	there	are	matters connected	with	it	that	would	best	be	left	undisturbed,	even	here.	It	may	be someone	just	doing	a	history	project	or	looking	at	some	unimportant	matter,	but	I would	still	like	to	know	who.	The	tip	I	had	pointed	to	the	police	station	in Marshlands.	You	have	a	contact	there?"

"I	do,	Mr	Acheron.	What	do	you	want	me	to	do	when	I	find	out	who	it	is?"

"Who	and	why,	Tobias.	Who	and	why.	Tell	me	that,	and	I'll	decide	what action,	if	any,	is	required."

Beyond	the	final	metal	hatch,	the	trio	of	explorers	found	a	small	room	with	a bench	for	sitting,	also	covered	in	dust,	a	place	where	clothes	might	have	been hung,	and	a	door	with	a	lever	where	a	human	would	have	expected	to	find	a handle	but	without	a	security	lock.

On	one	wall,	Elsbeth	found	a	framed	poster	showing	a	hominid	creature	with distinctly	reptilian	features,	including	a	jaw	that	looked	as	if	it	could	bite	a human	face	off,	very	pale	skin,	and	lank,	grey	hair.	But	the	creature	was	dressed in	colorful	clothes	and	might	have	been	smiling,	as	far	as	they	could	tell.	In	the

background	was	what	looked	to	be	a	cave	with	glittering	columns	of	stalagmites and	hanging	curtains	of	stalactites.	There	was	a	single	word	in	large	type	on	top of	the	poster	and	several	in	smaller	type	underneath.

"It's	a	travel	poster!"	shrieked	Elsbeth.	"This	is	what	the	creatures	who	built this	place	look	like.	This	is	a	huge,	huge	find.	There's	been	nothing	like	this anywhere.	This	is	an	entirely	new	civilisation.	It	has	to	be	broadcast	to	the Empire.	We	have	to	tell	those	guys."

"Elsbeth,	don't	tell	them!"	snapped	Alf.	"Don't	say	anything	when	Hutch comes	around,	especially	about	broadcasting	the	find."

"But	it's	true,"	she	protested.

"Of	course	it's	true,"	retorted	Alf.	"The	trouble	is	our	hosts	are	not	good sharers.	The	gangsters	behind	this	have	spent	a	lot	of	time	and	money	getting this	far,	and	they'll	want	to	see	a	really	good	return	on	their	investment,	or	they'll be	around	asking	why	not	in	an	unpleasant,	if	not	downright	nasty	fashion.

That's	why	it's	important	they	don't	see	you	with	that	device	of	mine."

"How	nasty?"	asked	Brian.

"A	hole	out	in	the	desert	that	is	forever	yours,	that's	how	nasty."

The	two	college	types	were	shocked	into	silence.

"They	wouldn't	dare!"	said	Elsbeth,	eventually.

"Watch	them.	But	I'll	do	my	best	to	keep	you	guys	from	harm.	They	won't	do anything	for	a	few	days,	and	we	have	a	whole	alien	facility,	whatever	this	place is,	to	get	lost	in.	Keep	an	eye	open	for	ways	to	slip	out	unnoticed."

"Into	the	desert?"	said	Brian.

"Still	working	on	that	part,"	said	Alf.	He	had	decided	not	to	tell	them	that	a member	of	the	police	should	already	have	a	location	on	the	site.

Hutch	came	in	at	that	moment,	obviously	delighted	at	the	progress.	He	even spared	a	glance	for	the	travel	poster.

"When	can	we	access	the	complex	itself?"	he	asked.

As	an	answer,	Alf	pulled	out	the	lever	on	the	door	and	pushed	it	open.

"Knock	yourself	out,	but	we're	calling	it	for	tonight.	Note	that	there	is	still	a breeze,	so	there's	a	pressure	difference	somewhere.	That	means	we	shouldn't	be this	far	in	without	proper	equipment	like	breathing	masks	and	maybe	those helmets	with	a	light	that	the	miners	have,	and	it's	really	late.	Tomorrow	guys.

We'll	get	kitted	out	properly	and	start	exploring	the	whole	complex."

Another	reason	for	stopping	for	the	night	was	that	the	engineer	wanted	to report	what	had	happened	to	Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	–	he	did	not	dare think	of	her	in	any	other	terms,	even	if	she	was	cute	–	and	ensure	the	find	was safely	recorded	in	off-site	databases.

"I	see	what	you	mean,	a	real	breeze,"	said	Hutch,	holding	up	his	hand	to	feel the	airflow.	"We	need	to	go	on	now."

"Turn	off	the	generator	when	you	leave,"	said	Alf.	He	led	the	consultants	out to	a	dinner	of	frozen	packaged	meals	heated	up	in	a	microwave.

"Why	do	we	need	masks?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Cave	explorers,	spelunkers,	who	go	into	cave	systems	that	have	been	sealed carry	them,"	said	Alf.	"The	air	quality	on	the	surface	here	is	below	Earth	normal as	it	is.	Judging	by	how	the	pressure	equalised	when	we	got	that	last	door	open,	I think	the	atmosphere	in	the	bunker-facility-whatever	it	is,	was	different somehow.	I	guess	it's	been	sealed	for	a	long	time.	Maybe	much	of	the	oxygen got	absorbed	into	the	alien	concrete	or	something.	I	seem	to	recall	that happening	when	they	were	experimenting	with	people	living	in	closed	systems back	on	Earth.	Nitrogen	is	inert,	so	it	wouldn't	get	absorbed.

"I	saw	some	basic	masks	in	the	equipment	stacks	–	from	the	same	sporting goods	store	as	the	tents,	I	suppose.	They	have	air	quality	monitors	of	sorts	and small	oxygen	bottles.	I'll	show	you	how	to	use	them	tomorrow."

"Have	we	any	idea	how	long	it's	been	closed	up?"	asked	Brian.

"Apart	from	a	lot	of	dust,	it	doesn't	look	all	that	old,"	said	Alf,	"but	it's	been locked	up	in	darkness,	and	the	air	is	dry.	This	colony	was	first	settled,	what, eighty	years	ago,	and	the	planet	was	surveyed	at	least	a	couple	of	decades	before that	without	anyone	finding	traces	of	an	advanced	civilisation.	Call	it	a	century, at	least,	but	anything	beyond	that	is	a	guess.	We	need	archaeologists	here	sifting the	ground."

When	they	went	to	their	tents,	Alf	repeated	much	of	this	in	a	text	message	to Ellen,	who	examined	the	pictures	laboriously	transmitted	to	her	–	the	device uploaded	only	slowly	-	with	considerable	interest.	She	was	still	up	and	sitting	at a	small	desk	in	her	bedroom.

"Am	I	still	scum?"	he	asked	at	the	end	of	the	uploads.

"Slime,"	she	retorted,	"but	slime	that	is	proving	marginally	useful.	Keep	it up."

"Are	you	in	that	cute	dressing	gown	of	yours	right	now?"

"Now	you're	back	to	being	scum	about	to	go	up	on	charges	of	making disrespectful	comments	to	police.	Go	to	bed	and	report	tomorrow."

Ellen	deleted	the	text	exchange	on	her	device	because	she	did	not	want	it	to go	into	the	case	file,	but	when	she	dropped	the	device	into	her	bag	for	the	next day,	she	caught	herself	smiling.

Alf	went	to	bed	and	was	well	into	a	dreamland	that	featured	Detective Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	in	her	blue	dressing	gown	behaving	in	ways	inconsistent with	her	role	as	a	police	officer	when	he	found	himself	pressing	the	small	knife

he	had	brought	with	him	against	the	belly	of	Hutch.	The	thug	had	come	into	the tent	to	shake	him	awake,	and	Alf	had	acted	on	instinct.

"What	the...,"	said	Hutch.	He	knew	the	feeling	of	a	knife	against	his	belly.

"Where	did	that	come	from?"	Alf's	other	hand	gripped	the	thug's	right	arm.

Hatch	tried	to	shake	it	off	but	could	not	move	his	arm	at	all.

"First,	you	tell	me	why	the	fuck	you're	sneaking	into	my	tent,"	said	Alf,	head still	on	his	pillow.	"I'm	not	the	sort	of	guy	you	sneak	up	on."

"I	guess	not,"	said	Hutch.	"I	came	'cause	three	of	my	guys	are	missing	in	that Alien	place."

"Missing?"	said	Alf,	pushing	the	thug	away	and	getting	up.	"What	do	you mean	missing?"

"I	mean,	they	went	in	on	the	boss's	orders	and	haven't	come	out."

"How	long	have	they	been	gone?"

"Three	hours.	One	should	have	come	back	by	now	at	least	to	say	what's happening."

"These	were	the	three	guys	I	saw	around	before,	right?	They	didn't	strike	me as	scientist	types.	What	were	they	hoping	to	do	that	us	consultants	couldn't,	apart from	some	sightseeing?"

"Boss's	orders,"	said	Hutch.	"Straight	from	him."

"Do	you	know	where	in	the	underground	base	or	whatever	it	is	they	might have	gone?"

Hutch	paused	before	answering	and	seemed	to	undergo	some	internal struggle.

"Third	level,"	he	said	eventually.

"Third	level?	The	place	has	been	sealed	and	forgotten	for	at	least	a	century and	probably	much	longer,	and	they	know	to	go	to	the	third	level?	What	else	do you	guys	know	about	this	place	that	you	haven't	told	us	poor,	hard-working consultants?	Like	how	you	knew	that	the	entrance	to	the	facility	was	there	in	the first	place."

"There	were	plans	for	the	place	in	some	archive	somewhere,"	said	Hutch.	"I dunno	what	archive,	I	dunno	where	the	boss	got	them	from,	and	I	haven't	seen the	plans	myself,	but	there's	something	on	the	third	level	they	wanted."

"Were	there	any	warnings	along	with	the	plans	about	what	might	be	in	this place?"	asked	Alf.

"I	know	just	what	I	told	you.	We	weren't	told	of	any	warnings."

"Did	your	guys	take	masks?"

"Masks?	Were	they	supposed	to?"

"Didn't	you	hear	me	say	to	the	others	that	we	shouldn't	be	this	far	in	without masks?"

Hatch	strained	his	brain	with	thought	for	a	moment.	"Oh	yeah.	But	the	place has	oxygen."

"Doesn't	mean	all	the	air	is	good.	This	isn't	my	problem,	but	I	guess	we	can't leave	your	guys	down	there	without	trying	something."	He	thought	but	did	not add,	that	Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	would	not	approve	at	all	of	people being	left	to	die,	even	thugs.	"Go	grab	five	masks	from	the	crates	by	the	pit,	I'll change.	Oh	yeah,	and	there's	a	big	first	aid	kit	there.	Grab	that."

A	few	minutes	later,	they	were	at	the	entrance	to	the	facility,	and	Alf	was explaining	about	the	air	quality	warnings.	"It's	an	audio	warning	thing.	If	it's	just ticking,	there's	no	problem.	If	the	ticking	starts	increasing,	look	at	the	needle	on the	gage.	Check	how	far	it	is	from	the	red	area.	When	the	air	gets	really	bad,	it starts	shrieking	'warning'	'warning';	that's	when	you	want	to	put	the	masks	on quickly.	There	is	a	smart	air	filter	and	an	oxygen	bottle	with	fifteen	minutes	or	so air.	There's	also	a	speaker	so	we	can	talk	to	one	another	without	taking	the	mask off."

"Have	you	used	these	things	before?"

"Something	similar.	I	looked	at	the	manuals	for	these	briefly	yesterday."

"When	did	you	have	to	go	underground?"

"Like	I	told	the	others	yesterday,	I've	had	a	varied	career.	You	want	to	find your	colleagues	or	not?	Let's	go."

Besides	the	masks	which	they	carried	strapped	around	their	necks,	ready	to put	on	at	a	moment's	notice,	and	the	air	monitoring	devices	clipped	to	their	belts, they	had	mining	hard	hats	with	powerful	lights	at	the	front,	good	for	about	two hours,	plus	heavy-duty	flashlights.	They	stepped	through	the	final	hatch	into	a corridor	beyond.

The	first	impression	Alf	had	of	the	Alien	installation	was	of	absolute	silence; the	second	was	of	darkness.	The	lights	on	their	mining	helmets	made	little impression	on	the	inky	blackness.	The	corridor	stretched	off	to	the	left	and	right, and	there	were	doors.

"Any	idea	which	way	to	this	third	level?"	asked	Alf.

"I	didn't	think	to	ask.	They	said	they	knew."

"Wait!"	Alf	saw	something	on	the	floor.	“Look	at	this.	The	dust	has	been disturbed	to	the	right.	There	are	footprints	in	the	dust.	We	can	track	your	guys."

"All	right,	lead	the	way,"	said	Hutch.

They	followed	the	obvious	tracks	to	another	door	with	a	security	lock,	but this	one	was	lying	on	its	side,	and	there	were	scorch	marks	around	the	lock.

"You	guys	blew	it	open?"	asked	Alf	in	astonishment.

"Way	faster,"	said	Hutch,	unabashed,	"and	it's	not	a	heavy-duty	hatch	like	the others.	Just	an	internal	security	door."





"Whatever,"	said	Alf	and	stepped	through.	Beyond	that	door	was	an	ordinary one	with	a	lever,	which	opened	onto	a	gallery	at	the	top	of	a	vast,	open	space.

The	walls	on	either	side	of	Alf	melted	away.	In	front	of	him	was	a	waist	high wall	of	blue	material	with	nothing	beyond	that.

He	looked	down.	Far	below,	he	thought	he	could	see	a	tiled	floor	and	long seats	fitting	with	what	might	have	been	green	cushions.	Above	him	was	a	roof	of pale,	ribbed	arches	filled	in	with	the	same	blue	concrete/plaster	material	used	in the	wall.	The	arches	were,	in	turn,	supported	by	Greek-style	fluted	pillars	set	into the	galleries,	with	an	additional	vast	column	that	they	could	just	see	in	the middle	of	the	space.	Alf	could	not	see	any	end	to	the	galleries	to	his	left,	but	to his	right,	the	structure	curved	around	and	flattened	out.	In	the	lights	from	the mining	hats,	he	could	just	see	the	other	side.	The	space	had	both	elegance	and grandeur.

"Impressive,"	said	Alf,	then	added,	"your	friends	went	around	to	the	right."

They	followed	the	tracks.	Sightseeing	could	wait,	although	Alf	glanced	in the	occasional	window.	Some	of	these	windows	had	lettering	on	them;	others	did not.	Occasionally,	he	glimpsed	what	might	have	been	bits	of	furniture.	Overall, Alf	got	the	impression	of	a	giant,	emptied	out,	very	dusty,	underground	shopping mall.

At	the	end	of	the	galleries	the	tracks	merged	into	each	other	in	front	of	two sliding	doors.

"Looks	as	if	they	were	hoping	to	get	the	lift,"	said	Hutch.

"They	would	have	been	waiting	a	long	time,"	said	Alf.	"No	power	at	all."

The	tracks	moved	on	to	what	was	unmistakably	a	set	of	stairs,	although	small for	humans.	Two	levels	down,	the	tracks	veered	off	to	the	right	again.

"This	must	be	the	third	level,"	said	Alf.	They	followed	the	tracks	down	a broad	corridor,	and	then	Alf	stopped	abruptly.

"Wait,	what's	this,"	he	said,	stepping	to	the	edge	of	the	corridor.

In	the	dust	was	another,	completely	different	set	of	tracks.	They	were	of	two small	feet,	perhaps	the	size	of	a	chimpanzee	on	Earth,	but	with	a	flatter	sole	and three	toes,	including	a	massive,	big	toe.	There	was	no	dust	at	all	in	the	second	set of	tracks	and	no	indication	that	the	men	who	had	passed	that	way	had	paused	to inspect	them.

"These	were	made	after	your	colleagues	passed	through,"	said	Alf.

"Whatever	creature	made	these	tracks,	I	think	it's	following	your	guys."

CHAPTER	SEVEN

Senior	constable	Samantha	Pye	was	pleased	with	herself.

"I	cracked	my	dognapping	case,"	she	told	her	superior,	Sergeant	Pullen, when	she	came	in.

"Poppy	is	saved?"	said	Ellen.

"Turns	out	that	it	was	an	inside	job,	and	that	Poppy	was	never	in	any	real danger."

"Do	tell."

"One	of	the	husband's	sons	by	his	first	marriage	grabbed	the	dog	and	used	a disposable	assistant	unit	to	text	the	threats.	He	had	the	sense	to	use	a	credit	stick to	pay	for	the	phone	but	forgot	about	the	security	cameras	in	the	store.	His	dad identified	him	and	got	Poppy	back.	The	family	has	declined	to	make	any	formal complaint,	which	suits	me	fine."

"And	me,"	said	Ellen.	"If	we	present	a	brief	on	dognapping	to	legal,	we'd never	live	it	down.	The	family	is	happy;	the	crime	has	been	cleared	from	our records;	we	can	go	back	to	trying	to	trace	stolen	parts."

Then	Inspector	Barastoc	appeared	and	summoned	Ellen	to	his	office.

"I	was	just	looking	at	the	inquiries	made	by	this	station	and	saw	you	were making	record	requests	for	the	war	on	Martus	Prime,"	he	said	after	he	had	closed the	door.

"Yes,	sir,"	said	Ellen,	thinking	fast.	She	had	not	thought	to	cover	her	tracks on	those	inquiries.	Now,	she	was	confronted	by	one	of	her	major	failings	as	a police	officer:	her	inability	to	do	undercover	work.	Brilliant	at	interrogations	and playing	one	suspect	off	against	another,	she	was	no	good	at	acting	and subterfuge.	She	decided	she	could	tell	part	of	the	truth.

"I,	um,	was	just	following	up	a	lead,	sir,	about	that	mechanic	you	were interested	in."

"The	petty	thief	from	Sulu?"

"Yes,	sir.	He	let	slip	to	one	of	the	people	at	the	airport	that	he	was	in	the rebellion	on	Martus	Prime."

"Was	he	in	the	legions?"

"If	he	was	Imperial,	what's	he	doing	all	the	way	over	here	under	what	is clearly	an	assumed	identity?	Maybe	he	was	a	rebel."

"Ah!	That	makes	sense.	But	the	rebellion's	been	quashed,	and	the	rebel soldiers	allowed	to	go	home."

"Yes,	sir.	I	was	trying	to	work	that	out,	but	I	couldn't	find	any	trace	of	an Alfonso	on	the	rebel	side,	and	those	bugs	we	have	on	his	workplace	indicate	that he's	called	in	sick.	Do	you	want	me	to	pick	him	up	from	his	home?"

"Ah,	hmmm!"	Barastoc	pretended	to	consider	that	action,	although	he	knew full	well	that	Alf	was	at	the	Alien	site.	"May	as	well	leave	it	until	he	reappears.

Did	you	hear	anything	more	about	the	ship	crash	thing?"

Ellen	shook	her	head	while	being	careful	to	continue	to	look	directly	at Barastoc.

"No,	sir,	nothing."

"Okay,	well,	there	are	perps	lifting	engine	parts	left	and	right	–	maybe	see	if we	can	find	out	more	about	that	gang."

Ellen	'yes	sired'	and	left.	After	she	had	gone,	Barastoc	reached	for	his	phone.

Alf	switched	on	his	big	flashlight	to	take	a	closer	look	at	the	tracks	in	the dust.

"What	could	be	down	here?"	said	Hutch.	"You	said	the	place	had	been sealed."

"For	a	century,	maybe,	at	least,	but	we're	just	guessing,"	said	Alf.	"Look	at tracks;	you	can	see	regular	marks	here	and	here,	outside	the	footprints	on	the right	and	a	long	trail	here	on	the	left."

"What	could	be	causing	that?"

Alf	thought	for	a	moment.	"Maybe	it's	also	using	its	hands	to	walk,	like	a guerilla	or	chimp	on	Earth?	The	travel	poster	showed	a	creature	that	was	lizard-like	but	with	longer	arms	like	that	of	a	chimpanzee.	The	feet	are	small,	which also	suggests	a	chimp."

Alf	had	never	seen	a	chimpanzee,	even	in	a	zoo,	but	he	knew	about	them from	films.

"An	alien	lizard-chimp?"	said	Hutch

"Maybe.	I	dunno,"	said	Alf.	"Now	that	I	think	about	it,	your	guys	must	have made	a	hell	of	a	racket	when	they	blew	that	door	open.	Must've	been	able	to	hear the	boom	all	over	this	place.	There	are	no	other	tracks.	This	creature	must	not come	up	here	unless	it	has	a	reason."

"How	many	would	there	be?"

"Hutch,	I	have	no	idea.	I	can	see	one	set	of	tracks,	and	it's	going	in	the	same direction	as	your	friends.	Let's	follow	them.	This	place	gives	me	the	creeps."

"I	hear	you,"	said	Hutch.

They	walked	on,	keeping	an	eye	on	both	the	human	and	the	other	set	of tracks,	which	did	not	vary	until	they	came	to	a	corridor,	turning	to	the	left	this time.	The	creature's	tracks	also	turned	to	the	left.	As	they	entered	the	corridor,

the	air	quality	monitors	suddenly	started	ticking	harder,	and	the	voice	warnings kicked	in.

"Alert!	Alert!	Put	on	masks	now!"

As	they	put	on	their	masks,	Alf	thought	he	heard	a	stealthy	shuffle,	a whisper,	or	was	it	a	whimper?	He	switched	on	the	flashlight	again	to	see, through	the	mask,	a	hint	of	a	grey	form	and	a	glimpse	of	two	brief	points	of	red in	the	distance.	Then,	nothing	but	ticking	from	the	monitors.

"There	they	are!"	said	Hutch.	All	three	men	were	on	the	floor	in	front	of	a door.	Two	had	simply	fallen.	The	other	had	been	flung	across	the	corridor	to	the wall	on	the	opposite	side	and	had	slid	down	to	the	floor,	the	front	of	his	tee	shirt glistening	with	blood.	Alf	had	only	time	for	a	glance	at	the	scene	but	saw	that one	of	the	shoulder	bags	the	men	brought	with	them	had	been	flipped	open,	and the	contents,	including	a	small	stick	of	explosives	and	a	plastic	lunch	box,	had been	emptied	out.	The	top	of	the	lunch	box	had	been	ripped	off,	and	the	items	–

a	packet	of	sandwiches,	a	drink	box,	and	a	fruit	bar	–	spread	in	the	dust.

"This	guy's	been	shot	but	still	breathing,"	said	Hutch.	"What's	wrong	with them?"

As	an	answer,	Alf	grabbed	one	of	the	spare	face	masks,	pulled	it	over	one	of the	thug's	heads,	and	turned	on	the	air	bottle.	After	a	moment,	the	man	stirred and	then	sat	up.

"Do	that	guy,"	said	Alf	pointing	at	the	wounded	man.	"I'll	do	this	other	one."

Two	of	the	thugs	were	soon	sitting	up,	glad	to	be	breathing	properly,	but	the wounded	man	was	in	a	bad	way.	Now	that	he	was	conscious,	he	was	in	pain.

"You	two,"	said	Alf	to	the	thugs,	"where	was	this	guy	when	he	got	shot?"

"In	front	of	the	door,"	said	one,	still	breathing	heavily.	"Touched	the	handle."

A	closer	inspection	of	the	door,	with	Alf	careful	not	to	touch	the	handle	or step	in	front	of	it,	showed	a	small	round	hole	that	might	have	been	one	end	of	a gun	barrel.

"Booby	trap,	I	guess,"	said	Alf.	He	looked	at	the	wounded	man.	The	bullet,	if that	was	what	had	come	out	of	the	barrel,	had	gone	under	his	ribs	and	might have	gone	into	his	intestines.	There	was	no	exit	wound.

"Your	guy	needs	to	go	to	a	hospital	now,"	said	Alf.	"No	messing	around.

We'll	have	to	carry	him	out."	He	rummaged	in	the	medical	kit.	"Some	morphine here,	you	allergic?"	The	wounded	man	shook	his	head.	Alf	dosed	him	with	an injectable	ampule,	slapped	an	auto-bandage	on	the	wound,	and	picked	him	up.

"Grab	the	feet,"	he	said	to	Hutch.	"We'll	carry	him	out	that	way.	Have	your	guys grab	their	stuff,	and	let's	move."

"What	about	the	creature?"	said	Hutch,	who	had	also	glimpsed	a	grey	form.

"Don't	think	it's	going	to	bother	us.	It	seemed	more	curious	about	the	weird creatures	in	its	domain	than	hostile."

Alf	and	Hutch	carried	the	wounded	man	up	two	flights	of	stairs	before	the other	two	men	felt	recovered	enough	to	carry	their	comrade.	The	three	men	in the	original	party	had	started	to	feel	the	effects	of	the	air	as	they	went	into	the corridor	and	foolishly	tried	to	carry	on.	They	later	realised	that	the	further	they got	from	the	only	open	door,	the	more	dangerous	it	was	to	be	without	masks.

The	camp	was	still	in	darkness	when	they	got	to	the	surface.

"What	am	I	going	to	tell	them	when	we	get	to	the	hospital?"	Hutch	asked	Alf as	Junot,	the	wounded	man,	was	loaded	into	a	large	passenger	car	that	was	also at	the	site.	The	obvious	gunshot	wound	would	be	reported	to	the	police.

"Hutch,	I	don't	care,"	said	Alf,	standing	by	the	thug	as	he	typed	in	the password	for	the	car's	AI.	"But	in	the	interests	of	avoiding	police	involvement here	for	a	while	longer,	keep	it	as	simple	as	possible.	Just	say	you	found	him somewhere,	and	he's	a	friend	of	yours.	Remember	that	they'll	ask	questions about	where	you	found	him	and	why	you	found	him,	the	dust	on	his	clothes,	and so	on.	Start	thinking	of	a	story	and	make	sure	Junot	knows	it."

Before	he	went	back	to	bed	to	grab	another	couple	of	hours'	sleep	if	he	was lucky,	Alf	sent	a	text	to	Ellen	saying	that	another	of	the	men	at	the	site	had	been taken	to	hospital	and,	no,	it	had	nothing	to	do	with	him.	The	man	had	set	off	a booby	trap	at	the	site.	There	were	also	indications	of	a	creature	on	the	site.

The	news	that	the	alien	installation	was	inhabited	also	caused	Alf's colleagues	considerable	surprise	the	next	morning	at	breakfast.	They	sat	at	the camp	table	they	had	claimed	as	their	own,	with	the	two	thugs	from	last	night's expedition	keeping	an	eye	on	the	consultants	from	a	separate	table.

"How	can	anything	biological	still	be	alive	down	there?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Is	it	just	one?"	asked	Brian.

"No	idea	on	both	counts,"	said	Alf.	"But	the	tracks	were	recent	and unmistakable,	and	both	Hutch	and	I	glimpsed	the	creature	itself.	Maybe	there's another	way	in,	but	you	remember	how	the	hatch	blew	when	we	jacked	the	lock.

The	place	had	been	sealed	for	a	long	time	before	we	came	along.	Also,	there were	no	other	tracks	in	the	galleries,	and	I	didn't	see	anything	like	animal droppings."

"Automaton?"	asked	Brian.

Alf	shrugged.	"It's	a	thought.	My	guess	is	that	it's	only	one	and	doesn't	bother much	with	the	area	we	were	in.	But	it	heard	the	noise	when	our	friends	blew	the door	and	came	to	take	a	look.	I	don't	think	it's	hostile	–	it	didn't	hurt	the	guys	on the	ground	–	just	curious.	It	looked	at	a	lunch	box	that	was	in	their	packs	and threw	the	stuff	around."

"Poor	thing,"	said	Elsbeth.	"It's	been	down	there	at	least	a	century	alone."

"If	you	do	see	this	creature	down	there,	poor	or	not,	don't	approach	it,"	said Alf.	"If	you're	between	it	and	an	open	door,	get	out	of	the	way	so	it	can	escape.	If it	gets	used	to	us	being	around,	maybe	we	can	work	out	some	way	to	make contact."

"Gotit,"	she	said.

"What	were	our	friends	looking	for,	working	off	this	plan	they	didn't	share with	us?"	said	Brian.

"A	good	question,"	said	Alf.	"Whatever	was	behind	that	door,	it	was protected	by	a	booby	trap	that's	managed	to	remain	in	working	order	for	a century	or	so.	There	was	a	single	word	on	the	door,	which	didn't	mean	anything to	me.	Maybe	it's	a	piece	of	Alien	tech	they	somehow	knew	about,	maybe	it's weapons,	maybe	it's	advanced	ship	tech.	Whatever	it	is,	I'm	not	about	to	ask	our friends."

"This	is	such	a	huge	find,"	said	Elsbeth.	"The	Alien	races	we	know	about	are the	Poolers	and	the	Fronde,	who	we've	been	fighting.	But	all	the	physical	contact we've	had	has	been	crashed	ships	and	a	couple	of	markers	set	up	by	the	Poolers	–

all	of	it	coreward,	in	the	opposite	direction	from	Earth	to	us.	Then	there	are	the Spacers,	who	seem	to	have	just	vanished.	We	know	their	main	language	thanks to	the	Poolers	but	not	much	else,	and	now	we're	sitting	on	top	of	a	whole	fucking installation	built	by	a	race	using	an	alphabet	that	bears	no	relation	to	anything we've	seen	so	far.	This	is	not	just	huge;	it's	humongous.	Scholars	will	be	coming from	all	over	the	Imperium."

"When	it's	announced,"	said	Alf.	"Like	I	said	before,	the	interests	of	our hosts	are	not	scholastic,	and	they'll	be	worried	about	you	blabbing	when	you	get back	to	Creaghville."

The	other	two	were	silent	for	a	moment.

"They're	going	to	kill	us,	anyway,"	said	Elsbeth	softly.

"When	we	stop	being	useful,"	said	Alf.

"We're	not	getting	any	money	from	this?"	said	Brian.

"You	guys	didn't	ask	for	any	money	upfront,	did	you?"

They	both	shook	their	heads.

"Or	even	tell	anybody	where	you	were	going	or	with	whom?"

They	both	shook	their	heads.

"Shit!"	said	Brian	quietly.	"I	thought	it	was	such	a	sweet	deal."

"It	still	can	be,"	said	Alf.	"When	this	gets	out,	the	Empire	will	throw	money at	the	research	for	this	place,	and	you	two	will	be	in	prime	slots	for	jobs."

"We're	still	back	to	this	point	about	when	it	gets	out,"	said	Elsbeth.	"How	do we	get	the	word	out?	How	do	we	get	out?"

"Okay,	it's	time	I	came	clean,"	said	Alf,	"now	keep	your	voice	down	when	I tell	you	this	...	I've	been	sending	all	details	of	this	place	out	to	a	police	sergeant who's	been	compiling	an	investigation	file."

"With	that	device	of	yours?"	said	Brian.

"Uh-huh."

"Who's	the	sergeant?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen,	she	works	out	of	the	Marshlands	station."

"Why	her?"

"She	was	hassling	me	about	other	stuff	at	the	time,	and	I	overheard	a	snippet of	conversation	between	her	boss,	Inspector	Barastoc,	and	Mr	Charles	that indicated	she	isn't	corrupt.	Barastoc's	in	Charles's	pocket	but	not	her."

"Good	to	know,"	said	Elsbeth.

"If	you	talk	to	any	police,	only	her.	Come	to	think	of	it,	I'll	see	if	she	can release	her	file	to	a	lot	of	people	and	the	media	all	at	the	same	time.	If	all	this,"

Alf	waved	his	hands,	"becomes	generally	known,	there	won't	be	any	point	in killing	us."

"Release	it	now,"	said	Brian.

"Let's	just	take	more	of	a	look	inside,"	said	Alf.	"I	couldn't	take	pics	last night,	and	maybe	we	can	see	how	far	that	gallery	extends.	Hutch	may	not	be back	for	a	while,	and	our	friends	over	there	won't	care."

Alf	told	the	thugs	where	they	were	going	and	went	through	the	air-quality breathing	mask	drill	with	his	colleagues.	They	strapped	on	miner's	helmets, grabbed	large	flashlights,	and	walked	into	the	Alien	structure,	this	time	trying the	handles	of	any	doors	they	came	to	in	the	first	corridor.	The	trio	carefully examined	each	door	first	and	then	stood	to	one	side	when	they	pushed	on	the lever.	A	few	opened,	mostly	to	reveal	dusty	chairs	and	tables,	all	small	for humans,	but	the	occasional	artifact.	In	one,	they	found	a	small	box	with	a keypad.

"A	control	wand,	maybe?"	said	Brian,	wiping	the	dust	from	it	and	looking	at the	keypad.	In	another,	they	found,	high	up	on	a	shelf,	what	looked	suspiciously like	a	laptop	with	a	fold-out	screen,	albeit	smaller	than	the	ones	they	used.	"Oh man,	think	we	can	jack	it?"

"We	can	try,"	said	Alf.	"Let's	stop	the	room	to	room	stuff	and	see	how	far	we can	get	on	that	gallery	floor."

They	stepped	through	into	the	vast	main	gallery.

"Whoa,"	said	Elsbeth	reverently.

"It's	so	quiet,"	said	Brian.	"Like	a	tomb."	He	clapped	his	hands.	It	echoed.

They	walked	around	to	the	stairwells.

"You	said	there	was	a	lift	or	elevator	around	here?"	said	Elsbeth.

The	soldier	led	them	around	to	where	last	night's	group	had	paused.	"I	think those	are	the	equivalent	of	lift	doors,"	said	Alf.

Elsbeth	studied	the	doors	intently	for	a	moment	and	then	the	doors	of	the same	lift	on	the	next	floor.

"There,"	she	said,	pointing	at	a	symbol	on	the	right	above	the	sliding	doors.

"That	might	be	a	floor	number."

"Counting	up	or	counting	down?"	asked	Brian.

She	shrugged.	"We'll	have	to	see,	but	it's	a	place	to	start."

On	level	three,	they	walked	around	to	the	side	gallery	so	that	Alf	could	show the	other	two	the	tracks	he	had	spotted	the	other	night.	Elsbeth	gave	a	small shriek	when	she	saw	them.

"Oh,	my	stars,	it's	real,"	she	breathed.

"Still	can't	see	how	anything	bio	could	survive	down	here	for	so	long,"	said Brian.

They	got	to	the	bottom	and	examined	the	seats	that	had	once	been upholstered	in	some	form	of	glossy	fabric,	which	still	looked	good	but	cracked the	moment	Alf	touched	it.	They	took	pictures	and	moved	on,	keeping	to	the	side rather	than	out	into	the	vast	central	space.

"Look,"	said	Alf,	shining	his	light	on	the	dust	on	the	gallery	floor,	"our	friend has	been	here."

"Recent?"	said	Elsbeth,	bending	over	to	peer	closely.

"Difficult	to	tell,	but	seems	so,"	said	Alf.	"There	are	no	other	tracks.	It doesn't	seem	to	have	bothered	with	this	area	at	all	until	we	started	messing around."

"There's	a	big	passage	off	to	the	right	up	here,"	said	Brian.

Just	then,	the	air	quality	monitors	started	shrieking,	"Warning!	Warning!

Masks	on	now!"	The	trio	obliged.

"Let's	take	a	peek	through	that	passage	and	then	come	straight	back,"	said Alf	through	the	speaker	on	his	mask.	"These	air	bottles	don't	last	long."

The	passage	was	short,	and	at	its	end,	the	trio	was	confronted	with	another waist-high	blue	wall	beyond	which	was	a	vast,	black	space.	After	a	few moments	of	staring	into	the	darkness,	Alf	thought	he	could	see	a	lump	in	the near	distance.	He	aimed	his	light	at	the	lump	and	played	it	back	and	forth	until he	realised	that	it	might	be	the	head	of	a	statue	looking	like	the	head	of	the creature	they	had	seen	on	the	travel	poster.	On	a	whim,	he	got	one	of	the commercial	light	sticks	he	had	found	in	the	equipment	bins,	cracked	the	tube	so that	it	glowed,	and	threw	it.	As	it	arched	over	the	void,	the	stick	shed	tendrils	of light	on	the	grey	mass,	which	was	indeed	a	gigantic	statue	of	one	of	the	creatures that	built	the	city,	dressed	in	a	cloak	and	holding	a	spear,	the	tip	of	which	almost





touched	the	ceiling	of	the	vast	chamber	it	was	in.	Beyond	and	to	both	sides	of that	statue,	the	explorers	caught	a	glimpse	of	more	galleries	and	statues	before the	stick	hit	the	smooth,	patterned	floor	far	below.

"Oh	my,"	said	Elsbeth.

"Behold	the	Kingdom	of	the	Dwarves,"	muttered	Brian.

"This	isn't	just	an	installation;	it's	a	whole	city,"	said	Alf.

After	another	minute	or	so	of	the	trio	using	their	flashlights	to	get	some	idea of	the	colossal	size	of	the	place,	Alf	noticed	two	tiny	red	dots	just	visible	in	the gloom	about	where	he	thought	the	base	of	the	statue	would	be	on	the	floor	of	the chamber.

"Elsbeth,"	muttered	Alf.	"No	shrieking	but	look	directly	in	front	at	about floor	level.	Do	you	see	two	red	dots?"

"Oh	yes,"	she	said.

"I	think	that's	the	creature	checking	us	out."

CHAPTER	EIGHT

When	Ellen	and	Samantha	got	into	work,	Inspector	Barastoc	had	a	job	for	them.

"Some	guy	's	come	into	the	Marshlands	hospital	with	a	gunshot	wound,"	he said.	"They're	operating	on	him	now.	Be	there	when	he	wakes	up	and	see	if	you can	get	a	statement."

Thanks	to	Alf's	text,	Ellen	knew	that	the	wounded	man	was	from	the	Alien site	in	the	desert	and	that	they	were	unlikely	to	get	any	usable	statement	out	of him,	but	they	had	to	go	through	the	motions.	When	they	got	to	the	hospital,	the investigating	duo's	first	act	was	to	take	charge	of	the	slug	extracted	from	the thug's	intestines	and	place	it	in	an	evidence	bag	where	Ellen	pronounced	it

"unusual."	The	standard	police	evidence	scanners	both	officers	carried	with	them didn't	offer	any	further	details,	but	then	Ellen	had	not	expected	it	to.

A	scan	of	the	fingerprints	of	the	thug	Junot	Romero	before	he	woke	up indicated	that	his	career	had	been	of	considerable	previous	interest	to	the	police.

As	a	result,	when	the	anesthetic	wore	off,	Juno	found	himself	confronted	by	two notably	unsympathetic	female	police	officers.

"That's	an	unusual	slug	the	doctors	dug	out	of	you,	Mr	Romero,"	said	Ellen after	she	had	gone	through	the	preliminaries	of	introductions.	"With	your	history of	bad	behaviour,	we're	kinda	interested	to	know	who	shot	you	and	where	you got	shot."

"I	didn't	see	who	shot	me.	I	was	walking,	and	the	next	thing	I	know,	I	was	in hospital."

"Where	were	you	walking?"

"By	the	marshes."

"Where	exactly?"

"Somewhere	close	to	route	three."

"What	time	was	this?"

A	pause.	"'Bout	one	in	the	morning."

"What	were	you	doing	out	there	at	one	in	the	morning?"

"I	couldn't	sleep.	I	wanted	to	walk."

"Our	records	show	that	you	live	on	the	other	side	of	the	spaceport.	That's quite	a	drive	to	walk	off	a	bout	of	insomnia.	Why	out	there?	Why	not	walk	in Founder	Park?"

"I	like	the	marshlands."

"You're	one	of	the	few	who	do.	What	do	you	like	about	them?"

"I	just	like	'em."

This	went	on	for	some	time	before	Ellen	decided	to	wind	up.

"Here's	the	thing,	Mr	Romero,"	she	said.	"Under	Imperial	law,	if	a	gunshot wound	victim	is	proving	uncooperative,	I	can	ask	for	warrants	to	search	their place	and	anyone	else	involved,	including	the	person	who	dropped	you	off.	The hospital	security	cameras	and	facial	recognition	software	show	this	to	be	a Joffrey	Hutchins,	another	person	who	has	proved	of	some	interest	to	the	police over	the	years."

"I	was	answering	your	questions."

"Most	unconvincingly,"	said	Ellen.	"When	the	men	in	our	relationships	lie	to us,	we	can't	do	much	about	it.	But	when	the	men	we	interview	for	work	lie	to	us, we	can	apply	for	warrants.	Under	that	same	law,	we	can	ensure	you	cannot	get	to a	phone	for	a	few	hours	to	warn	people.	Is	there	anyone	you'd	like	us	to	notify?"

Junot	thought	about	that	for	a	moment.	"My	mum,"	he	said	eventually.

"Give	us	the	details,	and	we'll	be	on	our	way.	A	police	officer	will	be stationed	outside	for	the	rest	of	the	day.	After	that,	you'll	be	free	to	go	–

depending	on	what	we	find,	of	course."

The	ladies	left.

"You	going	to	check	with	the	inspector	about	the	warrants?"	asked	Samantha as	they	left	the	hospital.

"It's	just	standard	procedure,"	said	Ellen,	who	suspected	that	the	Inspector would	try	to	divert	her	back	to	chasing	stolen	spare	parts.	"We	can	take	a	couple of	extra	steps	before	reporting.	It's	better	than	investigating	petty	theft	at	any rate."

"It	is,"	said	Sam.

By	the	time	the	consultants	had	emerged	from	the	Alien	city,	as	they	now believed	it	was,	with	Elsbeth	taking	sketches	of	whatever	writing	she	could	find, Hutch	had	returned	from	his	mercy	dash,	full	of	information.

"You	were	in	the	rebellion	on	Martus	Prime,"	he	said	to	Alf	as	the	consultant climbed	out	of	the	pit.

Thanks	to	a	text	from	Ellen,	which	had	been	almost	apologetic,	saying	she had	revealed	that	information,	Alf	had	a	reply	ready.

"Uh-huh."

"You	were	in	the	Imperial	Guard?"	said	Elsbeth.

"Other	side."

"A	rebel?"

"Yep."

"Front	line?"	asked	Hutch.

"Wounded	twice."

"And	you	ended	up	all	the	way	over	here?"

"I	took	a	tour	for	my	health."

"Long	way	to	come	for	your	health,"	said	Hutch.

"I	had	a	lot	of	health	issues.	Now,	if	you'll	excuse	us,	we've	got	some processing	to	do."

"Are	those	IT	devices?"	said	Hutch,	seeing	the	control	wand	and	the	unit they	thought	might	be	a	tablet.

"Yep.	We	searched	the	rooms	close	to	the	opening.	Then,	walked	through that	gallery	to	the	end	and	took	a	quick	look	at	the	city	beyond."

"City?"

"As	in	underground	structures	several	times	the	size	of	what	we	saw	last night	-	a	very	large	gallery	with	big	statues,	and	we	think	several	galleries	of	the same	size	leading	off	it.	Didn't	your	plans	show	you	that	stuff?"

"Just	the	part	we	saw	and	a	passage	on	the	bottom	level	leading	off."

"That's	the	passage	that	leads	to	the	rest	of	the	city,"	said	Alf.	"Go	back	to your	boss	and	ask	him	if	there's	more	to	the	plans	and	tell	him	that	if	he	wants	us to	look	at	alien	tech	–	that's	what	all	this	is	about	right?"

Hutch	nodded	reluctantly.

"Then	you	need	to	get	more	advanced	masks	to	go	into	that	city	-	ones	that recycle	the	air	we	breathe	as	well	as	use	bottled	air.	They	last	for	hours.	And how	about	you	show	us	these	plans?"

"I'll	ask	the	boss,"	said	Hutch,	"but	for	now,	he	wants	us	to	look	in	that room."

"What's	in	that	room	that's	so	important?"

"He's	not	sure	himself.	Once	we	get	in	and	look,	he'll	tell	us	what	to	do."

"My	only	suggestion	then	is	to	blow	the	door,	like	you	did	with	that	locked door	to	the	gallery,"	said	Alf.	"I	had	a	quick	look	at	it	last	night.	There's	no security	pad	or	anything	else	to	work	on.	I	suspect	it's	unlocked	from	a	computer console	somewhere	else,	and	that	could	take	us	weeks	or	months	to	find.	If you're	that	keen	on	getting	in,	blow	it.	Just	don't	be	around	when	you	do.	Use	a timer."

"Gotit,"	said	Hutch,	relieved	to	have	a	straight	forward,	easily understandable	solution	to	the	problem	in	front	of	him.	"Say,	what	about	that creature	we	saw?	Did	you	see	it	again?"

"More	tracks,	but	we	think	it	was	out	there	watching	us."

"Boss	was	really	weirded	out	at	the	thought	of	whatever	it	is.	Was	wondering if	we	should	shoot	it."

"No	way,"	said	Elsbeth	looking	up.

"Tell	Mr	Charles	it	seems	curious	about	us,	not	hostile,	and	even	if	it's hostile,	he'd	never	be	forgiven	for	ordering	it	shot."

"You	bet,"	said	Elsbeth.

Hutch	shrugged.	"I'll	tell	him.	I	don't	think	he	cares,	but	I'll	tell	him."

By	the	time	Alf	sat	down	to	the	consultant's	sandwich	lunch,	Elsbeth	was stressing	out	about	the	information	she	had	collected.

"I	can	tell	the	difference	between	letters,	numbers,	and	symbols,"	she	said,

"but	I	dunno	which	way	the	number	sequence	goes.	Is	it	counting	up	or	counting down?	Do	these	guys	read	left	to	right	or	right	to	left?"	Then	she	caught	sight	of the	suspected	control	wand	by	the	alien	tablet	computer,	squealed,	and	pounced on	it.

"Numbers	on	the	keys.	She	looked	some	more	at	the	keypad.	Okay,	I	think that's	a	symbol	instead	of	a	letter	or	number,"	she	pointed	at	a	button	at	the	top,

"and	that	may	be	zero."	She	pointed	at	a	button	at	the	bottom.	"This	is	the reverse	of	the	elevator	door	sequence,	and	there	are	twelve	buttons.	The	gallery we	were	in	had	five	floors,	and	the	door	in	that	lift	space	had	that	symbol	on	it	–

five	from	the	top	button.	Maybe	it's	a	five	at	the	top	in	that	elevator	shaft	we	saw and	one	at	the	bottom,	with	these	guys	counting	by	twelves	rather	than	by	tens like	us,	and	now	I'm	pretty	sure	they	read	left	to	right."	She	sat	back.

"That's	pretty	good,	Elsbeth,"	said	Alf,	genuinely	impressed.	She	beamed.

"But	it	is	still	just	one	small	step."

She	nodded	reluctantly.	"Mind	you,	there's	a	number	three	on	the	first	hatch you	guys	unlocked."

"As	in	entrance	number	three?"

She	nodded	again.

"It	makes	sense	that	there'd	be	more	than	one	entrance	to	a	place	that	size, but	why	haven't	the	entrances	been	detected	well	before	this?	I	mean,	maybe	this place	has	been	abandoned	for	centuries,	but	not	thousands	of	years	–	not	enough time	for	erosion	and	soil	deposition	to	cover	large	entrances."

"Maybe	it's	like	that	weird	archaeological	site	on	Earth	they	still	haven't figured	out,"	said	Elsbeth.	"It's	a	huge	site	ten	thousand	years	old,	and	they initially	said	it	might	have	been	deliberately	buried."

"Göbekli	Tepe	you	mean?"	said	Alf.	"But	they	later	decided	it	hadn't	been buried.	Hmmm!	If	these	guys	deliberately	buried	everything,	it's	one	explanation for	why	we	haven't	found	any	traces	of	them	before	now.	Where	are	the	farms, the	mines,	the	connecting	roads,	and	the	holiday	resorts?"

"Maybe	the	resorts	are	also	underground,"	said	Elsbeth.	"You	saw	the	travel poster.	They	like	to	visit	caves.	Maybe	everything's	underground."

"Maybe,"	said	Alf.	"Another	difference,	now	that	I	think	of	it,	is	that	religion plays	a	big	part	in	Göbekli	Tepe,	but	I	don't	think	our	alien	friends	are	into religious	rituals.	We	didn't	see	any	carvings	showing	anything	that	might	be

religious	scenes	or	anything	much	in	the	way	of	decorations	apart	from	the statues	on	the	gallery	floor,	and	we	didn't	get	a	close	look	at	them.

Brian,	who	had	taken	no	part	in	the	conversation	in	favour	of	tinkering	with the	computer	notepad	they	had	picked	up,	suddenly	ripped	off	the	bottom	half	of it.

"That	was	it,	the	keypad	lifts	out.	Look!	Circuits	are	densely	packed	but	all sealed,	so	it	might	still	work."

"Got	any	points	we	can	put	leads	onto?"	asked	Alf.

"Think	so,"	muttered	Brian.	"No	external	power	jacks,	but	this	might	be	the main	power	system.	Low	voltage	to	start?"

"Let's	try."

While	they	ate	the	sandwiches,	Brian	brought	over	the	battery	system	they had	used	on	the	locks	and	tried	a	low	voltage	to	be	rewarded	with	a	gleam	of light	inside	the	device.	They	increased	the	voltage	again	and	got	a	block	of	what appeared	to	be	a	soft	mist	hanging	above	the	top	of	the	device.	It	took	Alf	a moment	to	understand	what	they	were	looking	at.

"It's	a	holographic	screen	display,"	he	exclaimed.

They	could	not	put	the	keypad	back	in	with	the	jacking	wires	in	place,	but Brian	pressed	some	of	the	contacts.	The	mist	cleared,	and	a	series	of	symbols appeared.	After	looking	at	the	keypad,	he	pressed	the	contact	he	suspected corresponded	with	enter	on	a	human	keyboard	and	was	presented	with	a	series	of words	in	the	alien	language.

"Until	we	can	read	this	stuff,	I	can't	do	much	else,"	said	Brian.

"At	least	we	know	how	to	power	it,"	said	Alf,	"and	we	know	they	used holographic	images."

Hutch	came	to	the	table	to	exclaim,	"What	the	fuck!	You	got	one	of	their devices	to	work!"

"We	got	a	response	from	it,"	said	Alf,	"but	it	doesn't	mean	anything	until	we can	work	out	the	language."

"Boss	wants	us	to	try	blowing	the	door	after	lunch,"	said	Hatch.	"You	guys going	to	come?"

"I	think	we	will.	Tell	us	when	you're	ready."

Elsbeth	waited	until	Hutch	left	and	then	whispered	fiercely.	"Are	we	really going	to	help	out	in	this	alien	tech	scavenger	hunt	of	theirs?"

"They	won't	get	to	keep	any	of	it,	remember,"	whispered	Alf	back,	"and	I think	it	might	help	us	take	a	closer	look	at	the	creature."

An	hour	later	Alf	was	hiding	around	the	corner	in	the	passage	off	the	gallery where	he	had	seen	the	tracks	on	the	previous	night.	Brian	was	beside	him	with	a

flashlight,	and	Elsbeth	was	a	little	further	away,	crouching	behind	one	of	the pillars	in	the	walls.

Behind	them,	Hutch	and	company	abruptly	blew	in	the	door	to	the	room	they were	interested	in	with	an	ear	shattering	boom	that	seemed	to	echo	throughout the	enormous,	empty,	underground	city.	No	wonder	the	creature	had	come	to check	it	out.	They	waited.	Eventually,	Hutch	called	on	the	cheap	two-way	radios they	had	found	in	the	equipment	stacks.	The	devices	had	proved	effective enough	at	very	short	ranges	inside	the	city.

"Alf,	can	you	come?"

"Soon.	Wait	there."

Then	Elsbeth,	who	also	had	a	radio,	whispered	excitedly.	"I	see	something."

A	little	later,	Alf	also	saw	the	creature	as	a	dim	outline	in	the	distance shuffling	along,	moving	chimp-like	on	hands	and	feet	but	with	its	left	arm	limp and	apparently	useless,	trailing	in	the	dust.	So	that	was	the	reason	for	the	odd track	he	had	seen	the	night	before.	He	was	aware	that	Hutch	had	walked	in behind	him.

"Don't	do	anything,"	he	said	softly.

"Boss	wants	to	know,"	said	Hutch,	having	the	sense	to	keep	his	voice	down.

Alf	waited	until	the	creature	was	within	about	twenty	paces,	then	swung himself	out	into	the	side	passage,	raising	both	arms,	hands	palm	outwards	as	if surrendering.

"Want	to	talk,"	he	said.	At	the	same	moment	Brian	switched	on	the	large flashlight	so	that	Alf	was	lit	up,	clearly	visible	to	the	creature.

Better	able	to	see	the	creature,	despite	the	darkness	and	being	lit	up	himself, Alf	realised	that	it	was	wearing	clothes.	Its	coat	might	have	once	been	a	smart blue	with	shiny	buttons	but	was	now	so	old	that	the	color	was	mostly	grey;	all but	two	buttons	had	disappeared,	and	the	sleeves	looked	as	if	they	might	fall	off.

A	pair	of	grey	trousers	with	a	black	belt	were	so	torn	and	tattered	that	they revealed	more	than	they	hid.

The	creature's	face	was	of	the	same	basic	plan	as	that	of	the	individual	in	the travel	poster,	with	a	snake-like	jaw	and	nostrils	up	front	and	a	skull	and	ears	that bore	a	passing	resemblance	to	that	of	a	human.	Part	of	the	creature's	face	had cracked	–	not	scared,	but	cracked	as	if	it	was	a	type	of	plastic	rather	than	flesh.

That	meant	it	was	an	artificial	being,	although	the	creature’s	eyes	seemed	to glow	with	intelligence.	Otherwise,	the	greenish	skin	was	smooth,	without	either fur	or	scales,	including	a	completely	bald	head.

All	this	Alf	saw	in	the	brief	moment	the	creature	stopped,	exclaimed,

"Aaaagh!"	then	turned	and	raced	off	down	the	gallery.	Then,	as	it	reached	the doorway	it	had	come	in	by,	the	creature	turned	and	stopped	to	look	at	Alf.	He





saw	that	the	human	had	not	moved	and	that	no	one	else	was	chasing	it.	The creature	then	raised	one	arm,	hand	out	in	the	same	gesture	Alf	had	used,	with	the left	arm	still	hanging	limp	and	useless.	It	remained	that	way	for	a	few	seconds, then	bolted	through	the	doorway.

"Oh,	my	stars,"	shrieked	Elsbeth	over	the	radio,	"I	think	it's	sentient.”

CHAPTER	NINE

Ellen	and	Samantha	found	enough	items	of	interest	at	the	homes	of	both	Hutch and	Junot	to	get	the	wounded	Junot	handcuffed	to	his	hospital	bed	while	they questioned	him	again.

"An	impressive	collection	of	firearms	at	your	place,	Mr	Romero,"	said	Ellen,

"and	you	took	some	trouble	to	hide	them.	But	detective	senior	constable	Pye here	has	more	experience	than	she	wants	in	men	hiding	things	from	her."

"Hard	won	experience,"	said	Samantha.

"Self-defence,"	muttered	Junot.

"You	need	both	an	assault	rifle	and	a	high-powered	rifle	with	top-of-the-range	optical	sights	for	self-defence?"	asked	Ellen.	"Our	tech	guys	nearly	wet themselves	when	we	handed	those	over.	Now	they're	happily	firing	them	and comparing	the	fired	slugs	with	bullets	recovered	in	past	cases."

"Boys	and	their	toys,	Sergeant	Pullen,"	interjected	Samantha.

"And	the	boys	liked	that	machine	gun	of	yours,	Mr	Romero,"	said	Ellen.

"They	told	me	all	sorts	of	stuff	about	it,	like	it	uses	standard	7.62-millimetre cartridges	and	has	an	impressive	rate	of	fire.	You	might	have	gotten	away	with possessing	the	other	weapons	if	you	had	a	license	for	them,	but	you	don't.	The machine	gun,	however,	and	I	don't	need	any	guy	to	tell	me	this,	is	flat	out	illegal.

For	the	record,	I	have	to	ask,	who	or	what	were	you	planning	on	defending yourself	against?"

Bad	neighbourhood,"	said	Junot	after	a	pause.

"Didn't	seem	that	bad,"	said	Ellen.	"Did	you	think	it	was	bad,	Detective Senior	Constable	Pye?"

"I'd	buy	there,"	said	Samantha.	"Although	it	wouldn't	be	my	first	choice.	We spoke	to	the	residents	of	your	building,	Mr	Romero,	and	they	seemed	to	think that	they	were	the	ones	who	needed	protection	from	you	and	friends	of	yours that	come	around."

"Trouble	with	neighbours,"	said	Junot	defiantly.

"Really?"	said	Ellen.	"Which	ones?	The	grandmother,	the	single	mum	with two	kids,	the	husband	and	wife	real	estate	agents,	or	the	student	share apartment?	Did	any	of	the	residents	seem	threatening	to	you,	senior	constable Pye?"

"Couldn't	see	any	threat	at	all	except	to	my	sanity,	Sergeant	Pullen,"	said Samantha.

"Mr	Romero,"	said	Ellen,	"your	digital	assistant	is	with	our	tech	guys	now, who	are	busily	going	through	emails,	texts,	and	the	occasional	digital	file	you have	been	entrusted	with,	and	I	expect	to	find	many	interesting	lines	of	inquiry.

In	the	meantime,	I'll	do	the	paperwork	on	the	arms	charges.	I'd	wish	you	a speedy	recovery,	but	I	doubt	you'd	welcome	moving	from	a	hospital	bed	to	a cell."

"I	have	friends,"	said	Junot.

"You'll	need	them,	Mr	Romero,"	said	Ellen.

"What	did	he	mean	when	he	said	he	had	friends?"	asked	Samantha	when they	were	back	out	on	the	streets.

"He's	one	of	Charles'	thugs,"	said	Ellen.	"He's	hoping	the	boss	can	pull	a	few strings.	I	also	know	where	he	got	shot."

"You	do?	Where	did	he	get	shot?"	asked	Samantha,	"and	how	do	you	know where?"

"Time	for	lunch	and	for	me	to	tell	you	what's	going	on,"	said	Ellen.

Hutch	finally	managed	to	persuade	the	consultants	to	leave	off	discussing their	encounter	with	the	creature	to	look	in	the	room	they	could	now	access.	The group	stepped	over	the	pieces	of	a	ruined	security	door,	paying	briefly	to	inspect the	booby	trap	mechanism	–	a	pistol	mechanism	with	what	seemed	to	be	three cartridges,	all	ruined	by	the	explosion	–	and	then	shone	their	flashlights	on several	rows	of	what	they	took	to	be	security	droids	sealed	in	tubes	filled	with some	form	of	greenish	liquid.	The	droids	were	built	along	the	same	lines	as	the race	that	inhabited	the	city	in	that	they	were	half-human-chimp,	half-reptilian, although	somewhat	larger	than	they	thought	the	city	inhabitants	had	been.	The bodies	of	these	droids	were	encased	in	a	dull-grey	armour	but	without	tac helmets,	which	they	found	in	cases	fixed	to	a	table.	Racks	of	arms	were	mounted in	transparent	cases	filled	with	more	of	the	green	liquid	recessed	into	the	walls	of the	room.	The	arms	were	further	secured	by	metal	bars	inside	the	case	with	no apparent	lock	or	fastening.

"Sorry	to	disappoint	your	Mr	Charles,"	said	Alf,	examining	the	weapons through	the	case,	"but	these	seem	similar	to	special	forces	assault	rifles	with	a built-in	grenade	launcher.	See	the	tube	grip	at	the	front?	Better	than	holding	it	by the	barrel.	The	optical	sights	seem	advanced,	but	I	can't	tell	much	else	until	I	can handle	the	weapon.	Good	luck	on	getting	them	out	of	that	rack."

"What	about	these	things?"	said	Hutch,	pointing	to	another	rack	filled	with stubby	weapons	resembling	old-fashioned	submachine	guns	with	a	circular magazine,	except	that	the	magazine	was	very	thick	and	the	barrel	very	wide.

"Looks	like	it	fires	explosive	rounds	–	grenades.	Lethal,	particularly	in confined	spaces,	but	it's	not	very	innovative	technology.	Looks	like	they	were

fully	equipped	to	crush	any	dissenting	groups	in	the	city	or	any	groups	outside	of it."

"Such	as	who?"	asked	Hutch.

"How	would	I	know?	Until	we	can	work	out	their	language	and	gain	access to	their	information	systems,	we're	flying	blind	here."

Rifle-like	weapons	in	a	third	rack	puzzled	Alf.	"Looks	like	these	do something	electrical.	See	the	prongs	there?	I	dunno	what	they	do,	but	these	may interest	your	boss.	You'd	have	to	take	one	out	of	the	rack,	point	it	at	something, and	try	to	fire	it,	then	dismantle	a	couple	to	see	how	they	work.	This	rack,"	Alf pointed	at	another	row	of	weapons	inset	in	the	wall,	"seems	to	be	batons	that	you use	to	hit	people	with.	The	basic	technology	has	been	around	a	while."

Their	tour	took	them	to	the	back	wall,	which	was	full	of	what	looked	to	be lockers.

"What	about	these?"	asked	Hatch.

"Same	basic	problem	as	the	door	and	the	weapon	racks,"	said	Alf.	"There's nothing	for	us	to	hack.	There's	no	security	keypad	or	any	sort	of	central	control for	us	to	jack	that	I	can	see.	The	whole	thing	must	be	unlocked	from	elsewhere."

"And	you	can't	find	that	place?"

"If	we	had	some	means	of	talking	to	the	creature,	assuming	it	can	talk,	and	it didn't	run	away	the	moment	we	spoke	to	it,	then	maybe	we	could	ask	it,	but	I wouldn't	hold	your	breath.	In	the	meantime,	we'll	look	around	the	city	to	see	if there's	anything	that	helps	us	get	a	handle	on	the	language	or	point	to	where	the city's	AI	might	be	holed	up.	While	you're	waiting	around,	why	not	just	try cutting	through	the	weapon	cases	and	the	lockers?	They	look	tough,	but	you've got	some	mean	cutting	equipment	in	the	camp.	Just	remember	to	check	for booby	traps."

After	that,	the	consultants	were	left	alone	to	explore	the	city,	reaching	the floor	of	the	main	arcade	they	had	seen	on	the	previous	day,	thanks	to	improved mining	breathing	masks	brought	in	by	Hatch.	These	filtered	the	air	and	had much	larger	air	bottles.	Mr	Charles,	they	were	told,	had	grumbled	about	the expense.	The	explorers	had	assumed	the	gallery	with	the	big	statue	was	the	main part	of	the	city,	but	when	they	got	to	its	floor	via	staircases,	they	found	that	it was	simply	the	end	point	of	two	larger	galleries	that	stretched	off	into	the darkness.

They	looked	at	the	statue	of	the	creature	wearing	a	cloak	and	holding	a	spear and	at	an	inscription	on	the	base	of	the	statue,	which	meant	nothing	to	them.

Then	they	walked	to	another	statue,	just	as	large,	of	a	creature	in	a	cloak	and hood	looking	dramatically	off	into	the	distance,	clutching	a	book.	Elsbeth	also

studied	the	inscription	at	the	base	of	that	statue,	although	she	could	make	little	of it.

"All	their	words	seem	short,	with	distinct	letters	–	they	don't	join	up	at	all	–

and	I	think	the	end	of	a	sentence	is	marked	by	this	line	here,"	said	Elsbeth, pointing	to	a	bar.	"There	are	languages	on	earth	that	use	something	similar."

"Okay,	another	piece	of	the	puzzle,"	said	Alf.	"Good	work.	You	may	also	be interested	to	know	that	our	friend	is	looking	at	us	from	the	corner	of	the intersecting	gallery.	Don't	turn	around!	Elsbeth	stopped	turning.	We'll	do everything	slowly.	Brian,	can	you	shine	that	light	on	me?"

Alf	turned	around	and	raised	his	arms,	palm	outward	as	before,	while illuminated.	Then	Elsbeth	and	Brian	did	the	same	thing,	all	to	show	the	creature that	they	knew	it	was	there	and	would	not	do	anything.	After	that,	they studiously	ignored	it	in	favour	of	looking	at	a	third	statue.	That	sculpture	was	a figure	in	a	hood	and	a	cloak	with	one	hand	on	a	sword	worn	on	its	right	hip.	The inscription	in	the	statue's	base	meant	as	much	to	them	as	the	first	two	had.

"Is	he	still	following	us?"	asked	Brian.

"Yes,	but	a	little	closer,"	said	Alf.

"Why	couldn't	it	be	a	'she'?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Ships	are	'she'	creatures	found	in	long	abandoned	cities	are	'he,'"	said	Alf,

"until	we	have	further	information."	They	walked	on	and	realised	that	the galleries	they	had	been	in	were	simply	the	outlier	for	a	vast	central	area,	a	forest of	stone	columns	interspersed	with	awe-inspiring,	domed	spaces.

"These	guys	really	knew	how	to	engineer,"	said	Alf.	"There's	masses	of	rock and	dirt	above	us,	but	there's	not	a	crack	or	a	seam	anywhere	in	these	chambers.

Maybe	we	should	call	the	creatures	that	built	this	place	The	Engineers	until	we know	more."

They	came	to	what	they	thought	might	be	the	city's	centre	with	a	massive statue	of	another	of	the	lizard-chimp-humanoids	that	built	the	place.	That	one was	dressed	in	what	might	well	have	been	an	archaic	costume,	albeit	a	few centuries	after	the	first	statues,	consisting	of	a	coat	with	buttons	and	braid	and holding	what	looked	very	much	like	a	ship's	spyglass.	In	front	of	this	statue	was a	large	stone	bowl	with	a	spike,	which	they	realized	must	be	a	fountain	without the	water.	In	front	of	the	fountain	were	a	host	of	small	benches	made	of	stone.

"One	of	the	city's	meeting	places.	Let's	see	if	our	friend	will	sit	with	us?"

said	Alf.

They	sat	down	on	one	bench	in	a	row,	facing	outwards,	one	of	the	large flashlights	on	a	stone	bench	in	front	of	them,	the	beam	parallel	to	them.	Alf stood	up,	facing	toward	where	he	knew	the	creature	was,	and	pointed	at	another bench	a	few	meters	from	them.	For	a	minute	or	so,	the	profound	silence	of	an

empty	city	settled	over	them,	and	then	the	creature	came	closer,	walking	slowly, its	feet	hardly	seeming	to	make	any	sound.	Eventually,	it	shuffled	up	to	the bench	and	sat	on	the	edge,	still	just	as	ragged,	grimy,	and	forlorn	as	it	had appeared	in	the	upper	chambers,	left	arm	dangling.

Alf	stood	up	slowly,	placed	a	hand	on	his	chest,	and	said	solemnly,	"Alf."

Elsbeth	stood	up	and	declared	herself	"Elsbeth,"	followed	by	"Brian."

Then	the	creature	stood	up,	placed	a	hand	on	its	chest,	and	after	apparent difficulty	in	getting	its	mouth	to	work,	said,	"Sill."

"Oh	my!	Oh	my!	Oh	my!"	breathed	Elsbeth.

Alf	got	up	again	and	said,	"I	am	Alf,"	then	pointed	at	the	creature,	"You	are Sill."	Elsbeth	did	the	same,	then	Brian.	Sill	then	obligingly	went	through	the same	process	in	what	they	took	to	be	its	language.	All	the	two	men	could	say about	the	words	used	was	that	it	involved	a	lot	of	hissing.	Elsbeth,	however, busily	took	notes	and	cursed	Alf's	tracking	device.	It	recorded	sound	but	was hardly	fit	for	purpose	and	did	not	do	video,	which	was	important	for	such	work.

Alf	asked	by	sign	language	if	they	could	sit	on	the	bench	closer	to	Sill,	and the	creature	nodded.

"Nodding	means	yes,"	breathed	Elsbeth.

Sill	did	not	look	any	better	close	up,	although	his	eyes	gleamed	with intelligence	as	he	looked	at	each	of	the	intruders	in	his	domain	in	turn.	Once	they were	seated,	however,	the	conversation	stalled	as	the	humans	could	not	think	of anything	obvious	to	ask.	Then	Alf	pointed	at	Sill's	useless	left	arm	and	said,

"Bad?	What	happened?"

Sill	looked	at	Alf	for	a	moment,	then	stood	up	and	stepped	back.

"You've	scared	him,"	said	Elsbeth.

But	Sill	did	not	back	away.	Instead,	he	said	something	that	sounded	like

"Shade"	and	waved	his	good	arm	towards	himself	as	if	wanting	them	to	move.

He	repeated	the	word	and	the	gesture.

"I	think	he	wants	us	to	follow	him,"	said	Alf,	and	that	proved	to	be	the	case.

Sill	led	them	down	what	might	be	a	processional	way	that	led	off	the	meeting place	–	in	the	light	of	their	mining	lamps	the	avenue	looked	very	much	like	an extended	cathedral	nave	on	Earth	but	without	the	stained-glass	windows	and with	statues	every	few	meters.

"We've	got	maybe	another	two	hours	on	our	masks,"	said	Brian.

"One	hour,	then,	if	we	want	to	allow	plenty	of	time	to	get	back,"	said	Alf.

Sill	led	them	to	a	door	off	the	processional	way	and	then	down	six	flights,	all the	time	looking	back	to	make	sure	his	new	friends	were	following.

"How	far	down	does	this	city	go?"	grumbled	Elsbeth.





Sill	finally	turned	off	onto	a	corridor,	and	they	marched	on,	passing	any number	of	doors	(the	consultants	soon	lost	count)	until	he	stopped	in	front	of	one and	pointed.	Words	were	printed	on	the	door,	but	like	every	other	piece	of writing	in	the	city,	they	meant	nothing	to	the	humans.	When	Alf	walked	forward to	get	a	better	look,	he	stepped	on	something.	He	picked	up	the	object	and	turned it	over.

"It's	a	hammer,"	he	said	after	a	moment.

The	tool	was	simply	a	lump	of	metal	inset	on	a	handle	of	indeterminate material.	One	end	was	flat,	and	the	other	was	shaped	like	an	axe.

"Look	at	this,"	said	Brian.	"There	are	marks	on	the	door	around	the	lock."

Alf	pointed	at	the	hammer	at	Sill	and	at	the	marks	on	the	door.	"Did	you	do this?"

Sill	nodded,	somewhat	reluctantly,	Alf	thought.

"What's	the	lock	like?"	he	asked	Brian.

"I	think	it's	biometric,"	said	Brian,	"but	still	has	the	same	basic	architecture as	the	other	locks	we've	cracked."

"Sill	here	has	been	desperate	enough	to	get	in	to	attack	the	door	with	a hammer,”	said	Alf.	“We	can	earn	some	goodwill	by	jacking	the	lock	and	seeing what	he	wants."

CHAPTER	TEN

Inspector	Barastoc	was	in	the	uncomfortable	position	of	having	to	explain	to	Mr Charles	that,	despite	the	money	the	crime	lord	was	paying	hard-working	police officials,	he	had	been	unable	to	sabotage	the	activities	of	an	eager	subordinate, namely	Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen.

"If	I'd	known	it	was	one	of	your	guys,	Mr	Charles,"	said	Barastoc,	"I	would have	gone	down	myself	and	interviewed	him.	No	one	told	me	about	a	shooting at	this	place.	I	was	trying	to	keep	the	sergeant	busy	and	away	from	inquiring about	this	crash	site."	Barastoc	had	now	begun	to	suspect	that	there	was	more	to the	story	than	a	missing	space	transport,	but	Mr	Charles	was	not	paying	him	to ask	questions.

Instead,	he	had	to	explain	to	the	crime	boss	that	the	search	warrants	were standard	procedure	in	such	cases	and	that	Sergeant	Pullen	should	have	informed him	what	she	was	doing	but	had	not	required	his	permission	or	authorization	to do	so.	The	sergeant	apologised	for	that	oversight,	saying	that	she	had	gotten caught	up	in	the	moment.	Barastoc	did	not	suspect	that	this	was	a	lie,	but	in	any case,	the	action	had	occurred,	and	the	searches	by	the	two	female	police	officers had	proved	surprisingly	efficient.	A	handgun	recovered	at	the	residence	of Joffrey	Hutchins	was	not	covered	by	a	permit	but	otherwise	had	proved	of	little interest	to	police.	The	arsenal	recovered	from	Junot's	abode,	however,	was proving	to	be	a	treasure	trove	of	forensic	material	and	raised	a	host	of	questions.

The	discovery	of	a	full	machine	gun	in	a	quiet	Imperial	backwater,	in particular,	had	excited	the	interest	of	various	senior	officials.	Where	had	Junot got	such	a	weapon	and	ammunition?	Unfortunately,	from	the	point	of	view	of	Mr Charles,	this	information	had	been	automatically	forwarded	to	various	police squads	in	Creaghville	police	HQ,	and	the	matter	was	out	of	the	inspector's	hands.

Already,	the	thug	had	been	transferred	to	HQ	for	further	questioning.

Mr	Charles	sighed.	Somehow,	Junot	had	to	be	silenced,	and	the	evidence lost,	and	that	would	take	money.	The	episode	was	disrupting	business, potentially	threatening	him	personally,	and	costing	a	great	deal	–	funds	that	Mr Acheron	might	not	repay.

Back	in	the	abandoned	city,	now	having	some	experience	in	jacking	alien security	locks,	Alf	and	Brian	used	tools	they	had	brought	to	rip	off	the	lock's outer	casing.	After	inspecting	the	metal	array	underneath,	they	ripped	that	out	as well	and	started	putting	leads	from	the	high-voltage	battery	they	had	brought with	them	on	various	likely	surfaces	of	the	exposed	circuitry.	After	a	few

minutes,	they	were	rewarded	with	a	distinct	'click',	and	the	door	swung	inwards slightly.	But	before	they	could	move,	Sill	barged	through	the	door	into	the	room beyond.	The	three	humans	followed	to	find	themselves	in	a	workshop.

There	was	a	bench	with	tools	placed	neatly	in	a	rack	in	front	of	it.	Unlike	the weapon	racks	they	had	seen	earlier,	the	tools	had	not	been	sealed	in	any	way	but still	looked	almost	new,	if	dusty.	On	another	wall	was	a	succession	of	diagrams showing	mechanical	arms,	legs,	and	torsos,	which	they	had	only	a	moment	to examine	before	Elsbeth	called.

"Guys,	look	at	this."

Sill	had	opened	one	of	a	line	of	lockers	and	pointed	at	an	item	on	a	shelf, which	the	linguist	pulled	out.	It	proved	to	be	an	arm	identical	to	Sill's	arm	but wrapped	in	a	form	of	plastic.	One	end	was	shaped	like	a	shoulder	joint	and	had various	clips,	connections,	and	a	power	cable.

"Look	at	that;	it's	a	left	arm	like	the	one	not	working,"	said	Alf.	"This	must be	some	sort	of	android	workshop	where	they'd	fix	guys	like	him.	He	knew where	it	was	but	couldn't	get	in."

"Must	have	really	wanted	to	fix	his	arm	for	so	long,"	said	Elsbeth.

Sill	pointed	at	the	replacement	arm,	then	at	his	useless	left	arm,	and	looked	at Alf.	The	human	thought	there	was	a	hint	of	pleading	in	the	android's	eyes.

"Can	we	replace	his	arm?"	asked	Brian,	a	note	of	disbelief	in	his	voice.

"Well,	um,"	said	Alf,	then	he	remembered	the	diagrams	on	the	wall	and walked	back	to	the	workshop	area.	"Look	at	that."	He	pointed	to	one.	"It's	the steps	for	an	arm	replacement	like	the	diagrams	you	follow	in	assembling something	from	a	box."

"And	I	usually	get	wrong,"	said	Elsbeth,	"even	when	I	know	the	language	of the	instructions."

"Sill	here	has	been	designed	so	that	his	limbs	can	be	easily	replaced,	and these	diagrams	show	step	by	step.	We	can't	read	the	words,	but	we	can	follow	the diagrams.	These	straps	here	must	function	like	tendons,	and	the	electrical	cable is	the	power	and	nerves.	At	least	we	can	have	a	look."

Alf	knelt	before	Sill	and	gestured	for	the	robot	to	take	his	coat	off.	Sill	undid the	two	remaining	buttons	of	his	blue	jacket	which	not	so	much	fell	off	but seemed	to	disintegrate,	the	scraps	falling	around	the	feet	of	the	android.	The	skin underneath	was	flesh-like	with	shallow	muscle	divisions	that	were	more	for show	than	any	function.	Above	and	to	the	left	of	where	a	belly	button	would	be on	a	human	were	two	tubes	that	looked	as	if	they	could	be	plugged	into something,	which	Alf	thought	that	he	must	ask	about	if	they	were	ever	able	to talk	to	Sill.

After	feeling	the	arm,	Alf	realised	that	he	could	pull	up	a	flap	of	this	flesh, but	not	very	far.	He	then	leaned	on	Sill's	shoulder	while	pushing	the	creature's arm	in	the	opposite	direction	and	found	that	he	could	take	the	arm	out	of	its elbow	socket,	much	as	a	human	arm	can	be	dislocated.	Sill	did	not	say	anything while	Alf	explored.	He	just	stood	there,	looking	straight	ahead.

"Brian,	there's	a	tool	in	that	diagram	for	reaching	under	the	flesh	and unclipping	those	straps	we	can	see	–	the	tendons.	See	if	you	can	find	one	in	that rack?"	Alf	was	aware	that	Elsbeth	was	off	elsewhere	in	the	workshop,	looking	in lockers.

Brian	found	what	looked	to	be	the	right	tool.	It	was	undoubtedly	slim	enough to	fit	under	the	flesh,	although	they	had	to	pull	the	flesh	back	a	little	further	to operate	the	device.	Sill	stood	there,	not	even	looking	at	his	arm.	After	a	few stops	and	starts,	they	managed	to	release	the	three	straps	and	then	pop	the	elbow joint	out	of	its	socket,	only	to	find	that	something	was	still	connecting	the	arm	to the	body.	After	some	messing	around,	Brian	pointed	out	that	they	had	forgotten about	the	electrical	cable.	That	was	unclipped,	and	the	arm	came	out	freely.

"How	about	that	-	android	amputation,"	said	Alf.

Attaching	the	spare	arm	proved	harder.	For	one	thing,	the	diagrams	indicated that	the	shoulder	joint	had	to	be	greased	with	a	lubricant.	A	search	uncovered	a sealed,	shallow	round	tin	strongly	reminiscent	of	the	type	of	container	earlier generations	on	earth	used	for	shoe	polish	in	a	set	of	drawers	below	the	bench.

The	diagrams	also	indicated	that	it	had	to	be	applied	with	a	heavy	glove,	which was	too	small	for	the	men	but	not	for	Elsbeth.	She	greased	the	joint	and	reached into	the	empty	shoulder	cavity	to	grease	the	elbow	socket.

"Ergh!"	she	said,	but	she	did	it.

Then,	it	was	a	matter	of	attaching	the	cable	and	the	straps,	which	required some	dexterity.	They	stood	back.	Sill	looked	at	them	for	a	moment,	his	arm	still hanging	limply,	then	he	moved	his	fingers	and	lifted	it,	eventually	clasping	both hands	together	on	his	chest	in	what	might	have	been	a	gesture	of	appreciation.

"No	problem,"	said	Alf,	"but	what	engineering?	This	stuff	still	works	even after	a	century	or	so.	The	guys	who	built	this	place	and	Sill	here	knew	what	they were	doing."

"Can	we	add	alien	android	repair	to	our	CVs?"	asked	Brian.

"Sure	can,"	said	Alf.	"But	what	was	wrong	with	the	old	arm?	Doesn't	seem	to be	anything	amiss	with	the	connections	or	the	bits	we	can	see."

"Maybe	something	in	the	internal	circuitry,"	said	Brian.	"The	arm	probably has	its	own	chip,	and	maybe	it	stopped	synching	with	the	main	motor	system	for some	reason.	Good	to	see	if	we	could	re-condition	it	somehow."

"Leave	it	here	for	now,"	said	Alf.	"It's	too	hard	to	conceal	up	top,	and	we	can come	back	for	it."

Sill	pointed	at	the	still	open	tin	of	lubricant	and	then	at	his	other	shoulder joint	and	two	leg	joints.

"He	wants	a	grease	job	on	the	other	joints,	but	we're	seriously	out	of	time,"

said	Brian.

"Shit,	you're	right,"	said	Alf,	looking	at	the	gauge	on	his	air	bottle.	"We've gotta	roll	people."

"Here,"	said	Elsbeth,	handing	Sill	two	bundles	wrapped	in	the	same	material as	the	replacement	arm.	They	were	replacements	for	the	uniform	coat	and	pants Sill	had	been	wearing.	"I	found	them	further	back.	There	is	only	one	size,	so	it must	be	right."	Sill	grabbed	the	bundles	and	nodded	vigorously.	"Are	we	going to	take	him	with	us?"

"Not	a	good	idea,	Elsbeth,	not	this	time,"	said	Alf.	"If	you	recall,	our	friends up	top	were	talking	about	shooting	him,	and	there's	the	problem	that	he	hasn't been	in	the	open	air	for	at	least	a	century,	as	far	as	we	know."

"I	suppose,"	said	Elsbeth.	"Will	he	be	all	right	by	himself	down	here?"

"Elsbeth,	he's	been	down	here	at	least	since	before	your	grandparents	were born.	Another	day	or	so	won't	matter.	We'll	leave	him	by	the	city	centre	fountain and	try	to	get	him	to	understand	we'll	be	back."

By	pointing	at	their	tanks	and	miming	choking,	they	seemed	to	make	Sill understand	that	they	had	to	go,	and	he	led	them	back	to	the	fountain,	where	they tried	to	get	him	to	understand,	by	pantomime,	that	they	would	be	back	and	that he	was	not	to	try	to	contact	the	other	humans.	Those	other	humans	were	bad (much	pointing	at	the	upper	gallery	and	shaking	of	heads).	They	left	Sill	at	the fountain	and	hurried	on,	anxious	eyes	on	their	air	gauges.	Finally,	they	emerged in	the	open	air,	relieved	to	be	out	of	the	dark,	airless,	tomb-silence	of	the	city.	It was	after	dark,	with	the	pit	illuminated	by	a	single	lamp	near	the	hatch	entrance.

"There	you	are,"	said	Hutch	from	the	darkness	at	the	top	of	the	ramp	to	the pit.	"Thought	I	might	have	to	go	and	get	the	bodies."

"No	need	to	wait	up	or	go	out	late,"	said	Alf,	"our	bodies	would	have	waited until	morning."

"What	took	you	so	long?"

"Got	turned	around	down	there,"	said	Alf	quickly	before	the	others	could respond.	"You	know	how	I	said	there	was	a	big	gallery	beyond	–	there's	even more	beyond	that,	including	what	we	think	is	the	city	centre.	There	are	also levels	below.	That's	where	we	got	turned	around."

"Shit!"	said	Hatch.	"Mr	Charles	wants	us	to	find	the	power	system	for	the city."

"Must	be	in	those	levels.	We'll	try	again	tomorrow,	but	good	luck	getting	any of	the	machinery	to	work	after	all	this	time."

Hatch	shrugged.	"Whatever	–	just	find	that	stuff	to	start."

"Give	us	spare	air	bottles,	and	we	can	stay	out	longer."

"Sure...	Say,	did	you	see	that	creature?"

"He	was	there.	We	all	saw	him."	The	others	nodded.	"But	he	kept	his distance.	He's	not	hostile;	he's	just	curious	but	shy."

"Humph!"	said	Hutch	meaningfully	and	walked	off,	leaving	the	consultants to	discuss	their	day	over	a	packaged	dinner,	speaking	mainly	in	whispers.

"You	were	talking	about	sneaking	away,"	said	Elsbeth.	"What	do	we	do	with Sill	then?"

"When	we	go,	I	guess	we'll	have	to	take	him	with	us,"	said	Alf.	"Hutch	and friends	might	start	hunting	him.	But	there's	still	the	difficulty	that	he	hasn't	been outside	for	a	long	time.	Direct	sunlight	and	heat	could	be	a	real	problem.	Also, we	don't	know	how	he	works.	Where	does	he	get	his	energy	from?	If	we	take him,	we	need	to	take	at	least	a	chunk	of	that	android	workshop	along	with replacement	limbs,	which	should	be	interesting.	You're	at	the	Imperial	Academy, right?"

Elsbeth	nodded.

"Who	is	your	doctoral	supervisor?"

"I	only	have	an	AI	supervisor.	The	plan	is	to	send	my	thesis	to	academics	at Mid-guard	for	assessment	when	it's	ready."	(Mid-guard	was	a	major	population centre	further	out	along	the	galactic	arm.)

"You	have	a	senior	academic	who	keeps	an	eye	on	you?"

"Dr	Kalapsy	–	we	call	him	Dr	Creepy,	but	he's	not	such	a	bad	guy."

"What	I	don't	get,"	said	Brian,	"is	that	the	city	still	seems	viable,	or	at	least we	can't	see	what's	wrong	with	the	place	that	made	everyone	leave."

"Don't	think	it	was	any	calamity,"	said	Alf.	"There's	no	sign	of	any	disorder in	any	of	the	spaces	we've	seen.	Everything	is	incredibly	dusty	and	likely	to crack	if	touched,	but	there's	nothing	left	lying	around.	Do	you	remember	the workshop?	The	last	technicians	there	put	all	the	tools	back	in	their	place	and even	locked	the	door,	unfortunately	for	Sill.

"If	you	look	at	Earth,	the	Maya	abandoned	a	host	of	cities	before	the	Spanish turned	up.	Scholars	aren't	sure	why	–	they	say	a	lot	of	interrelated	reasons	–	but anyway,	the	cities	were	completely	forgotten	and	swallowed	up	by	the	jungle until	explorers	started	stumbling	across	them."

"Angor	Wat	–	a	huge	temple-city	complex	in	Asia	was	also	abandoned,"	said Elsbeth.	"I	did	an	essay	on	it	as	part	of	my	degree.	In	that	case,	they	know	the elites	shifted	towards	the	growing	trading	centres	along	the	Mekong	Delta,	but





there	were	also	problems	with	the	water	system	and	the	varying	climate.	An invasion	or	two	probably	didn't	help.	But	I	don't	think	The	Engineers	would	be worried	by	changes	in	climate	and	there's	no	one	around	here	to	invade	them."

"Except	us,"	said	Alf.

"Huh?"	said	Brian	and	Elsbeth	together.

"We'd	never	threaten	them,"	said	Elsbeth.

"Oh,	I	agree,"	said	Alf.	"We'd	have	wanted	to	talk	to	them.	But	maybe	they didn't	realise	that.	The	Empire	hasn't	been	violence-free,	as	I	know	only	too	well, and	it	fought	a	war	with	the	Frondes.	We	were	attacked,	but,	again,	maybe	these guys	–	The	Engineers	–	were	not	to	know	that.	After	all,	the	city's	only	been abandoned	maybe	a	few	centuries	at	most	–	I'm	just	guessing,	but	if	it's thousands,	then	Sill	would	have	worn	down	long	ago,	and	a	few	hundred	years	is just	a	blink	of	an	eye	in	astronomical	terms.	The	only	thing	that	changed	around here	at	that	time	was	us.	Maybe	this	place	was	in	decline	anyway,	and	rather	than defend	a	declining	outpost	against	assault	by	evil	humans,	they	elected	to abandon	it	and	cover	all	traces	of	its	existence.	Then	they	could	deal	with	us	on their	terms	when	ready."

"Wow,	we're	evil,"	said	Elsbeth.

"My	mum	thinks	I'm	strange,	not	evil,"	said	Brian.

"Just	a	thought,"	said	Alf.	"When	we	announce,	scholars	will	swarm	all	over this	place,	and	there'll	be	more	than	enough	theories	to	go	around."

"You	bet,"	said	Elsbeth.

"You'll	have	to	tell	Dr	Creepy	your	thesis	is	changing	to	this	place,"	said	Alf.

"Sure	is,"	said	Elsbeth.	"I	just	have	to	have	a	focus."

CHAPTER	ELEVEN

The	next	day,	the	three	consultants	got	spare	air	bottles	and	batteries	for	the lamps.	Hatch	had	adopted	Alf's	suggestion	that	they	run	an	air	line	connected	to an	air	pump	in	the	pit	as	far	into	the	gallery	as	possible.	That	meant	the	thugs had	less	need	for	masks	and,	as	they	found	walking	in	the	city,	"spooky,"	were happy	to	keep	at	the	task	of	wrecking	the	armoury	they	had	found.

Alf	thought	the	thugs	had	managed	to	get	into	some	of	the	lockers,	but	he had	not	been	told	what	they	had	found	and	was	careful	not	to	ask.	He	also	did not	care.	Of	more	immediate	concern	was	that	when	Elsbeth	used	his	tracking device	to	send	a	reassuring	text	to	her	mother,	she	happened	to	read	some	of	the exchanges	between	himself	and	Sergeant	Pullen.

"Why	does	the	police	sergeant	who	we	are	depending	on	to	help	get	us	out	of this	and	publicise	the	city	call	you	'scum'?"	she	asked	as	they	walked	across	the floor	of	the	upper	gallery.

"She	calls	me	that	whenever	I	compliment	her,"	said	Alf,	"as	well	as	slime and	a	creep."

"Have	you	given	any	reason	for	thinking	of	you	as	scum,	apart	from	the compliments,	and	how	come	you've	seen	her	in	a	dressing	gown?"

That	required	some	explanation,	which	Elsbeth	listened	to	in	silence.	"Your assumed	identity	is	this	petty	thief	from	Sulu,	but	this	sergeant	knew	that	was wrong?"

"There	are,	unfortunately,	marked	differences	between	me	and	the	file description	of	the	person	who	goes	with	the	identity	capsule.	I	had	to	tell	her	my real	identity	as	a	soldier	in	the	rebellion	before	she	would	help	me."

"Are	you	wanted	because	of	the	rebellion	thing?"	asked	Brian,	who	had	been listening.

"I'm	not	wanted	–	at	least	not	for	anything	major	–	and	I've	got	no	real	reason to	hide,	but	I	didn't	realise	that	until	after	I	got	here,	and	that's	all	I'll	say.	Stick	to calling	me	Alf.	I'll	tell	you	the	rest	after	we	get	out	of	this."

"Well,	okay,"	said	Elsbeth,	"but	I	want	to	know,	is	there	anything	between yourself	and	this	sergeant	you	compliment?"

"I	only	wish,"	said	Alf,	"but	as	you	can	see,	I	am	but	scum	to	her."

Elsbeth	thought	that	the	texts	mostly	did	not	show	any	marked	disgust	by	the sergeant	and	that	Alf	would	be	a	good	proposition	for	any	woman	but	decided she	had	taken	the	issue	far	enough.

Back	in	the	Marshlands	police	station	Sergeant	Pullen	had	been	handed	a missing	persons	case.

"At	least	it's	not	another	dog,"	said	Samantha.

In	fact,	the	only	person	missing	Jubilee	Egret,	Jubee	to	his	friends,	was	the man's	parole	officer.	Jubee	had	not	turned	up	for	his	regular	appointment,	and	his sister	had	not	seen	him	for	a	few	days,	although	that	was	a	good	thing	as	far	as she	was	concerned.

"Had	to	let	him	stay	here	after	he	got	out,"	said	Honey	Egret	after	the	two policewomen	had	tracked	her	down,	"but	it	really	cramps	my	style,	you	know."

A	low-rent	blonde	–	to	be	kind	–	who	was	nearly	bursting	out	of	her	top,	Honey mixed	club	stripping	with	sex	work,	or	so	the	policewomen	suspected,	sticking to	trusted	regular	customers	to	avoid	the	need	for	a	pimp	and	keep	under	police radar.	But	she	still	needed	somewhere	to	take	her	clients,	and	the	brother	had been	getting	in	the	way.

"Jubee	got	himself	mixed	up	in	some	serious	stuff,	I	see,"	said	Ellen,	"getting past	security	locks	for	a	gang	to	clean	stores	out	of	high-end	merchandise.	Did he	say	anything	about	where	he	was	going?"

"Just	said	something	about	how	he'd	got	a	high-paying	gig	out	in	the	desert.

It's	no	big	deal	that	he's	not	around.	He'll	come	back	–	worse	luck."

The	two	police	officers	exchanged	glances.

"Did	he	say	who	offered	him	this	desert	job?"	asked	Ellen.

"Just	people	he	knew	through	the	gang,"	said	Honey,	"he	also	thought	that	it was	on	the	up."

A	few	more	questions	later,	they	were	on	the	street	outside	Honey's	small unit.

"Worth	asking	around	the	gang	members	–	they'll	be	on	record	–	about	who was	recruiting?"	asked	Samatha.	She	had	been	given	a	copy	of	Ellen's	growing investigation	file.

"Why	not?	There're	also	the	people	who	recruited	Alf's	friends	in	the	site.	We can	ask	who	wanted	the	recruiting	done."

In	the	city,	the	consultants	found	Sill	waiting	by	the	fountain.

Alf	pointed	at	the	arm,	"All,	okay?"

Sill	nodded	and	lifted	the	arm	to	show	that	it	was	working,	then	said	"shade"

with	a	distinct	hiss	at	the	"s"	and	gestured	for	them	to	come	as	he	had	the previous	day,	but	this	time	he	did	not	lead	them	to	the	android	repair	room.

Instead,	he	led	them	much	further	down	the	grand	processional	way	to	a	square fronting	what	looked	to	be	a	civic	building	with	grand	Greek-style	columns	out front	and	a	huge	arched	doorway	in	which	the	doors	had	been	left	open.	Beyond that	was	an	anteroom	with	two	grand	staircases	leading	to	an	upper	story,	with	a

grand,	arched	doorway	between	them.	Sill	led	the	way	through	the	grand opening	to	a	corridor	with	desks	on	either	side	and	then	to	another	grand	door.

That	door	opened	to	a	large	chamber	with	rows	of	seats	on	two	sides	and	a	box at	one	end	where	a	single	person	sat	when	the	chamber	was	in	use.

"It's	a	council	chamber,"	said	Elsbeth,	in	awe.	"The	king,	or	speaker,	or president	sat	there.	She	pointed	at	the	box.

But	the	council	chamber	was	simply	a	side	trip	on	the	way	to	the	place	Sill really	wanted	to	show	them.	He	took	them	back	out	to	the	antechamber	and	then to	a	side	door	that	had	been	left	open,	down	two	of	the	narrow	sets	of	stairs	used by	the	city	inhabitants,	and	into	another	large	room.

For	a	moment,	the	consultants	did	not	realise	where	they	were.	All	they could	see	was	a	series	of	what	looked	to	be	panels.	Then	Alf	pushed	the	light between	two	of	the	panels,	and	it	dawned	on	them	that	they	were	looking	at bookcases,	running	as	far	as	their	eyes	could	see.	They	were	all	filled	with books.

"A	library!"	gasped	Elsbeth.	She	shone	her	light	on	a	panel	displaying	large characters	on	the	end	of	one	of	the	panels.	"Those	are	numbers.	There	must	be	a central	index."

"Didn't	these	guys	go	digital?"	asked	Brian.

"Books	can	still	be	convenient,"	said	Alf,	"and	you	don't	need	a	computer	to read	them	or	the	power	to	be	on."

Sill	wanted	to	lead	them	further,	and	they	followed.	He	pointed	at	a	table with	several	books	on	it.

"He's	been	reading,"	said	Elsbeth.

"But	it's	pitch	black	in	here,"	said	Brian.

"I'm	pretty	certain	he	can	see	in	the	dark,"	said	Alf.	"His	eyes	glow	red	like that	of	an	animal."

They	moved	on	with	Sill,	looking	at	signs	at	the	top	of	the	bookcase	ends that	the	humans	had	not	previously	noticed.

"Subject	categories?"	guessed	Elsbeth.

Finally,	Sill	turned	into	one	row	and	walked	along,	looking	at	the	volumes until,	perhaps	a	hundred	human	paces	along,	he	stopped	and	waved	at	the	books on	one	side,	looking	at	Elsbeth.	She	looked	at	the	titles	of	the	books,	wiping away	dust	gently	with	a	handkerchief.	The	books	varied	considerably	in	width and	height	but	had	been	bound	in	the	same	grey	material	with	the	title	on	the spine	in	silver	letters	with	what	might	have	been	the	library	reference	number	on the	bottom.	Unlike	the	seat	covers	in	the	city,	the	material	did	not	crack	at	a touch.

"No,	no,"	she	said.	"Nothing	here	I	can	understand	...	wait!	This	one	is	in	the Spacers	language.	It'll	be	possible	to	read	it."	Elsbeth	pulled	on	the	spine	only for	it	to	crack	badly.	"Shit!"

"I	was	going	to	say	be	gentle,"	said	Alf.	"These	books	have	been	there	a	long while."

Elsbeth	pulled	the	tome	out	with	more	care,	rocking	it	back	and	forth	until	it slid	out,	then	put	it	on	the	floor	and	opened	it	without	causing	more	damage.	The pages	were	not	paper	but	some	form	of	thin	plastic.	The	pages	cracked ominously	when	turned	over	but	did	not	break.

"We	should	be	wearing	gloves	when	we	handle	this	stuff,"	said	Alf.	"But	we haven't	got	any."

After	flipping	over	a	few	pages,	Elsbeth	squealed	again.	"Look	an illustration!"

Alf	and	Brian	looked	to	see	a	line	drawing	of	a	thin	creature	with	a	domed head	dressed	in	a	robe	walking	along	what	looked	to	be	a	castle	battlement,	deep in	thought.

"A	spacer	in	archaic	costume?"	guessed	Alf.	"Is	it	some	sort	of	storybook?"

"There's	an	app	for	this	language.	It's	in	the	open-source	section	of	the Imperial	archives	here.	I	looked	at	it	when	I	was	hunting	around	for	thesis	topics.

I	can	put	it	on	that	tracking	device	and	Brian	might	be	able	to	rig	up	an	image recognition	interface.

"Can	do,"	said	Brian.

"Be	able	to	read	word	by	word,"	said	Alf.	"Better	if	you	know	the	grammar, but	at	least	you'll	be	able	to	get	an	idea	of	what	the	book's	about.	Progress,	but doesn't	get	us	far	with	the	Sill	language."

"No,	it	doesn't,"	said	Elsbeth,	chewing	her	lip.	"But	these	guys	obviously	had contact	with	the	Spacers.	Maybe..."	She	scanned	the	bookcases	around	the Spacers'	book,	without	finding	what	she	wanted,	then	climbed	up	to	look	at	the top-most	shelves.	Alf	intervened	by	putting	his	shoulder	under	her	bottom	and hoisting	her	up	as	if	she	were	a	child.	She	giggled.	"Thanks.	Um,	go	along	to	the left.	Some	more."	This	time,	she	shrieked,	grabbing	at	a	book.	Sill	looked	on	in alarm.	Was	something	wrong?

Elsbeth	carefully	maneuvered	the	book	out	of	its	slot,	then	put	it	on	the	floor, carefully	flipped	open	the	cover,	and	squealed	again.	"I	don't	believe	it;	I	don't believe	it.	This	is	a	Spacer-Engineers,	Engineers-Spacer	dictionary.	My	parents had	an	English	Latin	dictionary	that	fascinated	me	as	a	child.	See,	the	first	half has	words	in	the	Engineer's	language,	and	the	definition	is	in	Spacer.	The	second half,"	she	flipped	over	a	lot	of	pages	at	once,	"has	the	words	in	Spacer	and	the definition	in	Engineer.	This	is	the	Rosetta	Stone	for	this	place,	not	to	mention	my





PhD	thesis,	my	professorship,	and	my	ticket	to	an	Imperial	Research	Institute dedicated	to	scanning	and	reading	all	these	books.	I	mean,	just	look	at	this place?"	She	spread	her	arms,	face	shining.	"Even	with	AI	assistance	and	image recognition,	there's	years	of	work	here."

The	linguist	turned	to	Sill,	who	was	still	looking	on	in	alarm,	put	the	book	on the	floor,	and	clasped	her	hands	in	front	of	her	chest	-	the	same	gesture	the creature	had	made	when	his	arm	had	been	replaced.	She	waved	her	arms	at	the book	and	repeated	the	thank	you	gesture.	Sill's	eyes	seemed	to	widen,	then	he straightened	up	and	bowed,	staying	in	the	bow	for	several	seconds,	eyes	down, before	straightening	up.

"Okay,	another	example	of	Sill	etiquette,"	said	Alf.	"We'll	look	around	a	little more.	Check	the	shelves	on	the	other	side.	We'll	mark	this	place	and	the	row	and come	back.	We've	still	got	to	give	Sill	his	grease	and	oil	change	and	make	an effort	to	check	out	the	lower	levels	for	the	power	generators	and	city	AI	to	keep Hutch	off	our	backs.

"And	have	lunch,"	said	Brian.	"What's	a	Rosetta	Stone?"

"When	scholars	first	started	taking	a	serious	interest	in	Earth's	ancient Egyptian	civilisation,"	said	Elsbeth,	"they	couldn't	read	the	Hieroglyphs	carved on	all	those	stone	monuments.	They	knew	it	must	be	a	language,	but	anyone	who could	read	it	had	been	dead	for	a	thousand	years.	Then	they	discovered,	by chance,	a	stone	at	a	place	called	Rosetta	that	set	out	a	royal	decree	in	both ancient	Egyptian	and	ancient	Greek,	and	scholars	could	read	the	Greek.	That proved	the	key	to	deciphering	the	whole	thing.	This	is	way	better	than	any Rosetta	Stone	as	it's	in	a	form	we	can	readily	understand.	I	might	be	able	to communicate	basic	words	to	Sill	tomorrow	by	pointing	to	them	in	the	book.

Brian,	I	need	that	app	downloaded	and	hooked	up	to	image	recognition	as	soon as	you	can."

"Alf's	little	device	has	got	a	camera,	so	sure,"	said	Brian.	"I	can	hook something	up."

Sill	looked	from	one	human	to	another,	apparently	wondering	what	they were	talking	about.

CHAPTER	TWELVE

Mr	Charles	thought	that	Hutch,	now	his	senior	guy	at	the	excavation	camp,	was at	least	an	improvement	on	the	homicidal	Thumper	in	that	he	did	not	execute those	recruited	to	help,	as	had	happened	with	the	security	lock	expert	his	people had	found.	He	had	also	done	a	reasonable	job	opening	up	the	city	–	albeit	with the	help	of	consultants.	But	he	was	still	a	thug	dealing	with	alien	technology.

"We've	been	hacking	away	at	this	armoury,	Mr	Charles,"	Thumper	said	in	his daily	call	to	the	boss.	He	had	stepped	away	from	the	other	thugs	to	a	corner	of the	above	ground	camp	under	the	camouflage	awning.	"But	the	alien	metal	and plastic	material	is	the	hardest	shit	the	guys	have	ever	come	across.	We've	opened some	of	the	lockers,	but	I	dunno	what	I'm	looking	at."

"What	about	getting	the	base	power	online?	I	was	told	it	was	possible	to	start it."

"With	all	due	respect,	Mr	Charles,	it's	not	a	base	we	think	it's	a	city."

"What?"

"Alf's	group's	been	right	in,	and	they	say	there's	a	city	centre	with	big	statues and	a	fountain.	I've	just	been	to	the	end	of	the	gallery	that's	on	the	plans,	and	as far	as	I	can	tell,	there's	a	whole	other,	much	larger	gallery	beyond	that."

"How	can	there	be	a	city	there	undiscovered	even	if	it	is	underground?	It's only	about	two	hour's	drive	from	Creaghville."

"Alf's	saying	that	he	thinks	whoever	was	here	covered	up	all	entrances	and traces	of	their	activity	before	leaving.	He	doesn't	know	why	or	if	they	meant	to come	back	or	what,	but	it's	a	big	site,	and	not	easy	to	find	the	generators	or whatever.	He	says	there're	a	whole	lot	of	floors	below	the	city	centre,	and	the generators	may	be	there."

"Floors?	How	many?"

"He	went	down	five,"	said	Hatch,	"but	he	said	there	were	more,	lots	more."

"Lots	more	than	five.	Shit!	I	must	think	about	this,"	said	Mr	Charles.	"What about	this	creature?"

"Alf	says	it's	followed	his	guys	around,	but	it's	curious,	not	hostile.	They think	it's	some	sort	of	robot	servant	that	got	left	behind	and	survived	this	long because	whoever	built	the	city	were	good	engineers."

"Humph!	Just	keep	at	it	for	now.	I'll	consider	the	options."

Mr	Charles	hung	up	and	tried	to	think	what	he	would	do.	The	situation	was getting	out	of	hand.	He	knew	that	the	site	was	of	Imperial-shattering	importance, but	he	also	knew	confessing	his	involvement	now	would	result	in	too	many

questions.	Maybe	the	Imperial	Senate	Investigation	Commission	–	a	body	that struck	fear	into	the	hearts	of	wrongdoers	everywhere	–	would	take	an	interest.

But	how	in	all	the	Empire	could	he	cover	up	his	involvement	once	word	of	this discovery	leaked,	not	to	mention	hide	the	fact	that	an	earlier	worker	had	been murdered?	He	knew	Mr	Acheron	was	considering	various	plans	to	eliminate	all evidence	and	witnesses.	Maybe	they	could	be	brought	forward?	Charles	picked up	his	assistant	unit	again	and	called	another	number.

Down	in	the	city,	the	consultant	trio	regreased	Sill's	joints	while	Elsbeth made	a	little	more	progress	with	the	language.	She	got	Sill	to	point	out	the	only word	she	knew,	"shade,"	which	she	thought	meant	"come"	or	maybe	"follow	me"

in	the	dictionary.	Being	very	smart	for	a	servant	droid	Sill	was	able	to	do	this.

Then	she	got	him	to	point	out	the	letters	for	his	name	and	then	to	the	first-person pronoun	"I."	She	did	not	know	if	she	was	asking	the	right	questions,	as	she	told the	others,	and	wasn't	sure	of	the	answers	as	she	did	not	know	the	grammar	or syntax	of	the	language.	But	it	was	a	start.	There	were	notes	about	the	Engineer's language	at	the	beginning	of	the	Engineer-Spacer	part	of	the	dictionary	–	at	least, that's	what	Elsbeth	thought	they	looked	like	–	but	pending	the	installation	of	the Spacer	language	app	when	they	returned	to	the	surface,	that	did	not	help	very much.

"We'll	have	to	come	back	tomorrow,	Elsbeth,"	said	Alf	after	a	time.	"For now,	we	need	to	know	where	the	main	generators	for	the	city	are	so	that	Hutch doesn't	think	we've	been	wasting	time	with	the	local	inhabitants."

By	tapping	the	power	button	in	the	android	workshop	a	few	times	and pointing	at	what	they	thought	was	a	light	fixture	overhead	–	the	Engineers	used buttons	rather	than	switches	–	then	gesturing	at	the	machinery	and	making noises,	the	humans	conveyed	the	need	to	find	the	city's	generators,	or	hoped	they had.	Sill	led	them	down	two	more	corridors,	several	more	flights	of	stairs,	and another	corridor	before	pointing	at	a	door	with	a	prominent	label	and	what appeared	to	be	a	warning	sign	–	a	disc	that	might	have	been	bright	orange	when it	had	been	fixed	on	the	door	and	still	glowed	a	little	despite	the	years.	The	door had	a	security	lock,	which	Brian	and	Alf	made	short	work	of,	while	Elsbeth wrote	down	the	words	on	the	door	and	got	Sill	to	point	them	out	in	the dictionary.

Inside	was	a	room	full	of	screens	with	glass-like	material	on	three	sides, which	might	have	looked	out	onto	something	but	initially,	all	they	could	see	was a	black	void.	By	turning	off	all	other	lights	and	focusing	the	beam	of	one	of	the flashlights	Alf	could	just	pick	out	a	series	of	machines	on	the	floor	beneath them.

"We	need	to	get	down	there,"	Alf	said	to	Sill,	pointing	at	the	machines.	This time,	Sill	shook	his	head	and	lifted	his	shoulders,	arms	outspread,	in	what seemed	a	very	human	gesture.	Then	Alf	saw	through	the	control	room	window	a metallic	catwalk-style	stairway	leading	from	the	level	they	were	on	down	to	the machine	room	floor.	They	returned	to	the	corridor,	jacked	the	lock	on	the	next door,	and	walked	down	the	stairs.	The	grey	hulking	masses	of	the	machinery dwarfed	them.

"This	is	definitely	it,"	said	Alf	after	a	few	moments'	inspection.

"How	do	you	know?"	asked	Brian.

"See	that	rounded	structure	with	distinct	fins	in	the	distance?"

Brian	thought	he	could	see	a	looming	grey	mass.

"That's	the	fusion	reactor.	All	these	other	machines	are	to	kick	start	that reactor.	They	need	a	lot	of	power	to	become	self-sustaining."

"What	are	these	machines?"	asked	Brian.

"They	look	a	lot	like	diesels,	so	alien	diesels,	except	that	they	have	boxes	on the	side."	Alf	flicked	dust	from	the	side	of	one	of	the	boxes.	"Look,	each	has some	sort	of	indicator,	and	they	plug	in	about	where	you'd	expect	the	fuel	tank	to go.	A	solid-state	fuel	tank?"

"Why	wouldn't	they	just	use	diesel?"

"Even	under	ideal	conditions,	you	can't	store	diesel	for	more	than	a	year	or so.	It	goes	off.	Anyway,	whatever,	it's	time	to	make	plans	to	skip	town,	taking Sill	with	us."

"Yes!"	said	Elsbeth.	"Being	around	people	who	may	want	to	kill	me	makes me	nervous."

"Same	here,"	said	Brian.

"But	first	off,	I	want	to	make	sure	that	we	won't	kill	Sill	by	taking	him	out	of the	city.	We'll	spend	tomorrow	trying	to	work	out	what	makes	him	tick	and where	he	gets	his	energy	from	with	the	help	of	Elsbeth's	dictionary.	For	now, we're	out	of	time,	so	let's	go,	people.	We'll	leave	Sill	at	the	workshop	and	get him	to	understand	we'll	meet	there	tomorrow.	I	may	have	to	show	Hutch	the engine	room,	and	I	don't	want	him	to	see	Sill	waiting	for	us	anywhere."

They	dropped	Sill	off	at	the	workshop,	got	him	to	understand	they	would meet	back	there	the	next	day,	they	hoped,	and	walked	back	up	to	the	main	square to	see	that	there	were	lights	by	the	fountain	–	a	strange,	bright	sight	after	their group	had	walked	for	so	long	in	darkness.	The	lights	belonged	to	Hutch	and another	of	Mr	Charles'	goons	–	Alf	thought	his	name	was	Chris.	He	was	a	little larger	than	Hutch,	lank-haired,	unshaven,	and	foul-mouthed.	They	wore	mining hats	on	top	of	the	breathing	apparatus	and	carried	the	big	flashlights	they	had

been	using.	Fortunately,	the	books	Alf's	party	had	taken	from	the	library	were stowed	in	their	packs.

"You	guys	found	your	way	here,"	said	Alf.

"This	place	is	fucking	creepy,"	said	Chris.	"It's	so	quiet	and	black	down	here it	gives	me	the	shits."

"Mr	Charles	was	getting	anxious	about	the	generators,"	said	Hutch,	ignoring Chris.

"We	were	just	coming	back	up	to	tell	you	we've	found	them,"	said	Alf.

"Great,	where	are	they?"

"Ten	floors	that	way,"	said	Alf,	pointing	down.	"I'd	show	you,	except	we're	at our	safety	limits."

By	way	of	an	answer,	Hutch	pulled	another	air	tank	out	of	the	bag	he	had been	carrying	on	his	shoulder.	Alf	sighed.

"You	guys	go	up,"	he	said	to	Elsbeth	and	Brian.	"You	know	the	way.	Stairs by	the	statue	of	the	guy	with	the	book."

"Who's	this	guy,"	said	Hutch,	indicating	the	statue	by	the	fountain.

"Elsbeth	can't	read	the	inscription	yet,"	said	Alf	as	Elsbeth	and	Brian	moved off.	"But	it's	a	safe	bet	that	the	race	that	dug	out	the	city	wouldn't	put	up	a	twelve metre	high	statue	to	just	anyone.	He	must've	been	an	important	dude."

"It's	a	fucking	big	piece	of	crap,"	said	Chris,	eying	the	monstrous	thing.

Alf	thought	it	was	a	significant	piece	of	art	but	did	not	respond.	Instead,	he said	to	Hutch,	"If	you	want	to	see	the	generators,	let's	get	this	over	with."

They	moved	off,	keeping	an	eye	on	the	atmospheric	monitors.

"That	girl,	Elsbath...."	said	Chris	as	they	turned	off	into	the	access	corridor, Alf	reminding	Hutch	to	remember	the	two	statues	so	he	could	find	the	place again.

"Elsbeth,"	said	Alf.

"You	fucked	her	yet?"

"No."

"Could	go	her,"	said	Chris.	"Not	my	usual	ho,	but	I	ain't	fussy."

"Do	you	apologise	for	him	a	lot,"	Alf	said	to	Hutch,	"or	just	ignore	him."

"Mostly,	it	doesn't	matter,"	said	Hutch.

Chris	sneered	but	shut	up.	Later,	when	they	were	walking	down	the	corridor to	the	control	room,	and	Chris	thought	that	Alf	was	not	looking	at	them	(in	fact, Alf	always	watched	them	out	of	the	corner	of	his	eye),	he	pointed	the	fingers	of his	right	hand	and	motioned	with	his	thumb	as	if	his	hand	was	a	gun	and	his thumb	was	the	hammer	while	jerking	his	head	at	the	consultant.	Hutch	shook	his head,	and	Alf	heard	him	mutter,	"Mr	Charles	will	tell	us	when."

They	were	still	marked	for	execution.	They	had	to	escape	soon,	hopefully taking	Sill	with	them.

A	couple	of	floors	down,	Hutch	asked,	"What	unit	were	you	in	the rebellion?"

"You	writing	my	biography	now?"

"Just	curious."

"I	was	in	The	Forgotten	Legion."

"Tough	guys,	I	heard.	Gave	the	Imperial	legions	a	hard	time."

"I	guess,"	said	Alf.	"In	the	end,	it	was	all	for	nothing."

"How	come	you	got	called	the	Forgotten	Legion?"

"It	was	a	joke.	We	got	left	off	the	order	of	battle	one	time.	Nothing	more	than that.	The	name	sounded	cool,	so	we	kept	it."

By	then,	they	were	at	the	control	room,	where	Hutch	started	examining	the panels.

"What	are	you	looking	for?"	asked	Alf.

"A	big,	red	button,"	said	Hutch.	"Like	they	use	to	launch	missile	systems	was how	it	was	described	to	me."

"Really?	How	would	anyone	know	there	was	supposed	to	be	a	red	button down	here?	Place	has	been	sealed	for	maybe	centuries."

"Just	what	I	was	told,	Alf,"	said	Hutch,	still	looking	at	the	panels.	"I'm	a	shit kicker	taking	orders."

"Same	way	your	bosses	knew	the	city	location	and	where	they	got	the	partial plans	from,	no	doubt,"	said	Alf.

"Above	my	pay	grade,"	said	Hutch	diplomatically.	"And	I	can't	see	it."

"There's	still	the	machine	level."

"Where's	that?"

By	way	of	answer,	Alf	jammed	one	of	the	flashlights	against	the	control room	window	and	pointed	it	down.	One	of	the	Engineer	diesels	was	visible	in the	gloom.

"Take	us	down	there,"	said	Hutch.

A	few	minutes	later,	they	stood	among	the	diesels,	with	Alf	explaining	the basic	setup	and	what	he	thought	were	dry	fuel	cells.	Hutch	responded	by	playing his	flashlight	over	the	back	rows	of	the	diesels,	then	diving	into	one	row.	Alf	and Chris	followed	him	to	find	the	thug	standing	by	one	small	panel	on	a	pedestal.

The	panel	had	a	screen,	two	dials,	and	a	single	button	set	underneath	a transparent	case.	Despite	all	the	years	of	disuse,	the	button	looked	red.

"What's	it	meant	to	do?"	asked	Alf,	although	he	thought	he	knew	and	was beginning	to	doubt	the	wisdom	of	helping	Hutch	find	it.

"Just	told	to	find	it,"	said	Hutch.	"Whadda,	you	reckon	it	does,	Alf?"





"The	starting	point	for	the	whole	thing	is	my	guess,"	said	the	engineer.	"It'd start	one	of	the	diesels,	which	starts	the	others,	and	that	generates	enough	power to	kick	start	the	fusion	chamber	–	at	least,	that'd	be	the	idea	if	the	place	had	just been	built.	I'd	laugh	at	the	idea	of	starting	a	diesel	after	a	few	decades	of	disuse, without	serious	overhaul	work,	let	alone	after	a	century	or	so,	except	that	these guys	were	real	good	engineers.	Then	there's	the	problem	of	whether	the	reactor's been	left	set	up	with	enough	Helium3	and	the	magnets	which	contain	the	plasma still	work,	and	the	computer	monitoring	systems	reboot	correctly,	and	I'm	just getting	started."

"What	happens	if	the	diesels	work,	and	the	reactor	fails	to	start?"	asked Hutch.

"Nothing.	Fusion	reactors	don't	blow	up.	If	something	goes	wrong,	they	just stop	working	or	don't	start	in	the	first	place.	The	diesels	wouldn't	have	the	power to	run	the	city.	After	a	while,	they'd	run	out	of	fuel	and	stop	working	too."

"How	come	the	button	has	a	plastic	cover	over	it?"	asked	Chris.

"So,	guys	like	you	don't	carelessly	put	a	coffee	cup	on	it	and	start	the process,"	said	Hutch.	"Anyway,	we've	found	what	we	wanted	to	find.	Let's	get back	topside."

"Are	you	guys	going	to	do	anything	about	the	button?"	asked	Alf.

"Like	I	said,	I'm	just	doing	what	I'm	told,"	said	Alf.	"But	if	we	did	decide	to push	it,	and	it	worked,	what's	the	problem?	Might	get	the	lights	and	ventilation system	going."

"The	problem	is	the	security	droids	we	saw.	If	the	city	comes	to	life,	so would	they,	and	they	might	classify	your	people	as	a	threat."

"We	can	handle	the	droids	in	that	room,"	said	Hutch.

"You	can	sure	try,	but	what	about	the	other	rooms	we	don't	know	about?"

said	Alf.	"Elsbeth	can	read	the	numbers,	and	she	saw	a	three	on	the	entrance	we jacked.	That	might	mean	at	least	two	other	entrances	and	two	other	rooms	–	this place	is	vast,	and	we	haven't	even	been	to	all	the	main	areas,	let	alone	mapped it."

"Okay,	I'll	pass	that	on,"	said	Hutch.

Alf	did	not	think	the	machinery	would	work,	not	even	when	it	had	been designed	by	The	Engineers,	master	engineers	as	they	were.	But	there	was	always that	chance,	and	he	suspected	Mr	Charles	intended	to	have	his	people	push	that button.	When	that	happened,	he	wanted	to	be	well	away	from	the	city.

CHAPTER	THIRTEEN

Mr	Charles	had	been	sufficiently	displeased	with	his	chief	thug	Thumper	not	to visit	him	in	hospital.	Instead,	on	Thumper's	release,	he	had	summoned	the enforcer	to	his	office	to	sit	on	the	hard	chair	in	front	of	the	crime	boss's	desk, face	still	heavily	bandaged.

"You	were	giving	strict	instructions	not	to	harm	the	people	I	sent	to	the	site unless	absolutely	necessary	or	until	I	sent	instructions,"	Mr	Charles	said.

"Instead,	you	murdered	the	first	man	sent	and	were	messing	up	that	Alf	guy when	you	had	this	accident."

"The	first	guy	was	useless	with	the	locks	and	a	real	pain,	Mr	Charles,"	said Thumper.	"I	was	just	teaching	Alf	some	manners,	making	him	easier	to	control."

"Looks	like	you	were	the	one	taught	some	manners,"	retorted	Mr	Charles.

"How	did	you	do	so	much	damage	to	yourself	in	the	back	of	a	van?	Hutch	says he	found	you	lying	on	top	of	some	of	the	equipment	in	the	back."

Thumper	shrugged.	"Last	thing	I	remember,	Mr	Charles,	is	smashing	up	that shithead	Alf."

"You	had	him	handcuffed	with	a	hood	on?"

Thumper	nodded.

"You	might	have	underestimated	him.	Hutch	says	he	and	those	other	two	had freed	themselves	and	were	out	of	the	van	and	wandering	about	the	campsite when	he	came	to	get	you.	I've	since	been	told	this	Alf,	if	that's	his	name,	was	in the	Forgotten	Legion	in	the	rebellion	on	Martus	Prime."

Thumper	sneered	and	was	about	to	say	something	when	Mr	Charles	cut	him off.

"You	can	sneer,	Thumper,	but	those	guys	really	served	it	up	to	the	Imperials, using	captured	or	improvised	equipment,	and	there's	something	about	him	that'd make	me	wary	of	the	man.	If	I	give	the	order	to	terminate,	you	do	it	quick	and clean,	preferably	by	a	bullet	to	the	back	of	the	head	before	he	knows	you're there,	and	no	macho	crap	about	trying	to	prove	you're	a	better	fighter	or whatever.	Now	I'm	seriously	displeased	about	you	offing	the	first	guy	without clearing	it	with	me.	Go	away	and	come	back	when	the	doctors	have	given	the okay."

"Yes,	Mr	Charles,"	said	a	more	subdued	Thumper.	"Just	that...	the	woman police	sergeant	who	saw	me	in	the	hospital..."

"What	about	her?"

"She	seemed	to	know	that	I'd	been	injured	in	the	back	of	a	van."

"Did	she?	Hmmm!	What	did	she	say?

"She	asked	if	I'd	fallen	in	the	back	of	a	moving	van."

"Really?"	said	Mr	Charles.	"Oddly	specific."

"Thought	maybe	she'd	been	watching	me,	but	I	ain't	never	seen	her	before."

"I'll	take	it	up	with	others,	Thumper.	For	now,	go	away."

"Yes,	boss."

When	Alf	emerged	from	the	city	to	sit	down	to	a	late	dinner	at	the	communal table,	he	found	Elsbeth	deep	in	her	translation	work,	using	Alf's	device.	Brian had	downloaded	the	app	she	wanted	with	ease	and	connected	it	with	surprisingly powerful	image	recognition	software	he	happened	to	have	in	his	personal	library.

A	full	translation	of	the	texts	they	had	encountered	to	date	would	take	weeks	of painstaking	work,	but	sensibly	Elsbeth	had	decided	to	concentrate	on	just	a	few key	words	–	mainly	verbs,	with	a	few	nouns	and	adjectives	thrown	in	-	in	the hope	that	she	could	communicate	with	Sill	by	pointing	to	them	in	the	cross dictionary.	Grammatical	niceties	would	have	to	wait.	This	work	was	hidden	from the	thugs	on	their	separate	table	by	the	consultants	scattering	a	few	other	books around	and	Brian	blocking	the	view	by	sitting	beside	her	to	work	on	the	device he	had	picked	up.	Whether	it	was	the	obscured	view,	the	books,	or	the	fact	that Elsbeth	was	concentrating	on	them	–	the	thugs	did	not	like	"smart	chicks"	–	or because	they	did	not	care,	the	others	had	not	come	near	them.

"Your	police	sergeant	sent	a	couple	of	texts	asking	what	was	happening,"

said	Elsbeth	quietly	after	Alf	had	sat	down	with	a	packaged	meal	of	beef	rissoles at	one	end	of	the	table	to	help	block	the	view	of	Elsbeth's	work.	"I	answered	the second	one,	saying	who	I	was	and	that	we'd	found	a	library	with	this	dictionary, and	I	needed	to	do	some	work	on	the	device.	I	said	you'd	report	later,	and	by	the way,	I	didn't	think	you	were	scum."

"Okay,	that's	interesting,"	said	Alf.	"Did	she	reply?"

She	said,	"Tell	him	he's	still	scum."

Alf	sighed.	The	other	two	chuckled.

"It	could	be	worse,"	said	Brian.	"The	last	time	I	got	dumped,	I	got	called	a

'piece	of	shit	dropkick.'"

"Dropkick!"	exclaimed	Elsbeth.	"I	haven't	heard	'dropkick'	for	a	long	time."

"Did	you	piss	this	lady	off	in	any	way?"	asked	Brian.

"No,	just	complimented	her,	as	I	said	before,"	said	Alf,	"although	she	was mainly	interested	in	the	fact	that	I	entered	the	colony	illegally	and	was	working under	a	false	identity.	After	I	told	her	who	I	was..."

"While	she	was	in	her	dressing	gown,"	interrupted	Elsbeth.

"I	like	the	dressing	gown	part,"	said	Brian.

"I	was	discouraged	by	the	fact	that	she	had	her	police	pistol,	with	the	safety off,	and	handcuffs	on	the	table	while	we	talked.	Anyway,	she	said	my transgressions	could	be	overlooked	if	I	helped	the	cops	in	certain	matters."

"Okay,	you	have	to	pay	your	dues,"	said	Elsbeth.	"What	happens	afterwards?

Does	she	have	a	boyfriend?"

"Do	matters	always	have	to	come	back	to	whether	this	policewoman	has anything	but	total	revulsion	for	me?"	asked	Alf.	"Leave	my	personal	life	in peace,	Elsbeth,	and	listen	up.	We	have	some	decisions	to	make."

Alf	told	them	about	the	machines	and	the	button.

"The	city	might	start	if	they	push	that	button?"	asked	Brian.

"Maybe,"	said	Alf.	"I	mean,	look	at	Sill,	still	walking	and	talking	after	all those	years	locked	up	in	the	dark.	He	only	needed	one	appendage	to	be	changed and	a	grease	and	oil	job	on	his	joints.	Not	bad	going	at	all."

"What	do	we	do?"	said	Elsbeth.

"Tomorrow,	you	ask	Sill	if	there's	another	way	out	of	the	city."

"Okay...	but	he's	never	left."

All	ways	out	would	be	locked	and	buried,	but	Brian	and	I	can	jack	the	locks, we	hope,	and	find	one	that's	less	buried.	There	must	be	heaps	of	ways	out	of	a city	that	size.	We're	not	far	from	the	access	road	to	the	mines	up	North.	Get	to the	road,	thumb	a	ride,	and	ask	if	it's	alright	if	our	alien	android	comes	along too."

"You	think	we	can	take	Sill	out	of	the	city?"	said	Elsbeth.

"We've	also	got	to	work	that	out	tomorrow.	Take	something	to	throw	over him	in	daylight	and	the	sports	bags	we	brought	our	stuff	in	for	his	equipment	–

that	grease	tin,	the	tool	we	used	for	the	tendons,	and	a	few	appendages.	You know,	android	stuff."

"What	about	his	energy	supply?"	asked	Brian.	"He	must	get	it	from somewhere."

"Good	point,"	said	Alf.	"See	if	you	can	work	out	how	to	say,	'where	does your	energy	come	from?',	Elsbeth,	as	well	as	'where	are	the	other	exits?'"

"Got	it,	I	think,"	said	Elsbeth.	"Anything	else	impossible	you	want?"

"Don't	pack	your	own	stuff,	incidentally,	just	valuables,	credit	cards, identification,	and	so	on,	and	we	need	to	take	water	and	some	food.	With	any luck,	we'll	come	back	through	the	front	entrance	behind	a	heap	of	the	Imperial auxiliaries	and	local	police	and	grab	what	we	left	behind.	After	we	get	out,	we're going	straight	to	the	proconsul's	office,	screaming	about	what	we've	found.

Elsbeth,	get	your	supervisor	to	meet	us	there	if	you	can.	Tell	him	there's academic	credit	in	it	–	having	a	brilliant	student	and	all	that."

"I	like	the	brilliant	student	part.	Do	it	now?"

"Not	now,	when	we're	charging	towards	Creaghville.	We've	got	to	check	that the	proconsul	is	in	her	office	and	not	on	some	tour	of	the	districts	or	whatever."

"Why	not	barge	out	through	the	front	entrance,"	said	Brian.	"We	can	jack	one of	the	cars	here."

"I	know	the	AI	password	for	one	of	the	cars,"	said	Alf.	"I	was	standing	by Hutch	when	he	took	the	guy	who	got	shot	to	the	hospital	and	noted	what	he typed	in.	But	coming	out	this	way	may	be	too	hard.	There's	only	one	route	to take	through	the	entrance	and	up	the	ramp,	and	I	might	have	to	start	shooting.	I don't	have	anything	to	shoot	with	and	dropping	bodies	unless	we	had	direct proof	our	lives	were	in	danger	wouldn't	look	so	good	to	the	police."

"Then	let's	call	in	the	police,"	said	Elsbeth.

"No	major	reason	to	call	for	them,"	said	Alf.	"We	know	they	want	to	make	us part	of	the	desert	after	we've	stopped	being	useful,	but	we	can't	prove	that.	What we	can	do	is	send	off	a	text	to	Sergeant	Pullen	before	we	go	in	telling	her	to	start releasing	the	file	she's	compiled	to	everyone	she	can	think	of,	including	the media,	the	proconsul,	and	senior	members	of	the	local	senate.	She	has	the location,	so	a	lot	of	people	will	be	turning	up	looking	for	the	alien	installation, but	we	still	don't	want	to	be	hanging	around	the	entrance	tomorrow	when	things start	moving,	or	Mr	Charles	may	give	the	order	to	have	us	wacked.	Let's	get	up before	the	rest	of	the	camp	and	lose	ourselves	in	the	city."

Back	in	Creaghville,	Mr	Charles	was	making	certain	concerns	known	to Ellen's	immediate	boss,	Inspector	Barastoc.

"That	sergeant	of	yours,	Sergeant	Pullen,	seems	to	know	more	about	our project	in	the	desert	than	is	good	for	her	or	us,"	said	the	gang	boss.

"She	hasn't	said	anything	to	me,"	said	Barastoc.	"And	there's	nothing	in	her case	files	or	anything	about	her	behaviour	indicating	any	suspicions."

Mr	Charles	told	Barastoc	about	Ellen's	comment	to	his	thug.

"I	agree	it's	specific,	Mr	Charles,"	said	the	inspector,	"but	it's	not	much	to	go on.	Maybe	Thumper	misheard	the	Sergeant."

"Maybe,"	said	Mr	Charles.	"But	check	it	out	all	the	same.	The	project	is getting	out	of	hand.	Drastic	measures	may	be	needed,	and	we	don't	want	loose ends."

"Yes,	Mr	Charles."	Barastoc	knew	what	happened	to	loose	ends,	and	despite being	bent	or	crooked	for	some	time,	he	remained	enough	of	a	police	officer	to be	repulsed	by	the	idea	of	any	harm	coming	to	a	fellow	officer	and	colleague, especially	one	under	his	command	and	who	had	proved	as	capable	as	Ellen Pullen.	But	he	reminded	himself	that	he	was	in	too	deeply	with	Mr	Charles	to back	out	now,	and	face	the	same	fate	himself,	not	to	mention	the	hardship	it would	cause	to	his	family.





Barastoc	sighed,	got	up,	and	looked	out	of	his	office	door	into	the	station's detective's	room.	As	it	was	past	normal	hours	and	there	were	no	urgent	cases,	it was	empty.	He	went	to	Ellen's	desk	and	rummaged	through	the	drawers,	trying not	to	disturb	the	contents	too	much.	In	the	second	drawer,	under	a	folder,	the inspector	found	a	printout	of	a	satellite	photograph	of	the	entrance	site	in	the desert.	The	photograph	did	not	show	much,	but	Ellen	had	used	a	marker	pen	to highlight	the	corners	of	a	square.	The	inspector	puzzled	over	this	square	for	a moment	until	he	saw	that	the	material	in	it	was	subtly	different	from	that	of	the surrounding	desert	and	that	there	was	a	track	leading	up	to	it	–	a	track	that ceased	abruptly	at	the	side	of	the	square.	Ellen	had	marked	that,	too.

Barastoc	thought	Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	knew	far	more	about	what was	happening	in	the	desert	than	she	had	told	him.	But	how	much	did	she	know, who	had	she	told,	and	why	hadn't	she	said	anything	to	him?	There	was	nothing for	it	but	to	confront	her	and	then	tell	Mr	Charles	that	there	was	a	loose	end,	and he	did	not	want	to	think	what	would	happen	after	that.

CHAPTER	FOURTEEN

Alf	crept	into	Brian's	tent	before	dawn	and	shook	the	computer	geek	awake, putting	one	hand	on	the	young	man's	mouth	before	he	could	exclaim.

"Time	to	go,	Brian,"	he	said	quietly.	"Assault	teams	five	minutes.	We'll	have breakfast	inside."

"Assault	teams?"

"From	when	I	was	a	soldier.	Get	up	and	get	dressed.	We're	going."

"Okay,	before	you	go."	He	put	one	hand	on	Alf's	arm.

"Yes?"

"I've	been	meaning	to	speak	to	you	alone.	Elsbeth	-	do	you	know	if	she	has	a boyfriend?"

Alf	thought	this	was	an	additional	complication	to	the	task	of	getting everyone	out	of	the	city	alive.	He	liked	both	Brian	and	Elsbeth,	and	if	Brian asked	Elsbeth	out	it	was	no	business	of	his,	but	it	was	hardly	the	time	for	young love.

"She's	never	mentioned	anyone,"	he	said,	"and	the	only	message	she's	sent that	I	know	of	has	been	to	her	mum	to	tell	her	not	to	worry.	The	best	thing	is	to ask	her	yourself	but	keep	a	lid	on	your	hormones	until	we're	clear	of	the	city.

We'll	all	need	to	concentrate	in	there."

"Okay,	okay,	but	can	you	check	things	out	for	me?	You	know	–	I	can	save myself	another	embarrassing	rejection.	If	I	don't	ask,	then	we're	all	still	friends, and	she'll	not	laugh	at	me	for	asking,	which	has	happened.	Geeks	have	feelings, too."

"Brian,	not	now,"	said	Alf.	"Maybe	when	we've	blown	the	lid	of	this	whole affair.	Now	get	dressed."

He	went	into	Elsbeth's	tent	to	find	her	awake,	dressed,	and	smiling.

"I	heard	Brian,"	she	whispered.	"You	guys	should	learn	about	keeping	your voices	down."	She	giggled,	"Geeks	have	feelings	too.	No,	I	don't	have	a boyfriend,	and	you're	right;	we'll	get	clear,	then	think	about	dating."

Alf	returned	to	his	tent	to	pick	up	his	backpack	and	send	a	prepared	message to	Sergeant	Pullen	on	his	hard-working	tracking	unit,	telling	her	where	they	were going	and	why	and	to	start	telling	all	and	sundry	about	the	abandoned	city.	Then he	noticed	a	message	the	sergeant	sent	before	she	went	to	bed	the	previous	night, asking	if	the	next	of	kin	notification	was	still	his	mother	as	it	had	been	in	his auxiliary's	file.	The	file	on	his	career	as	a	rebel	mentioned	a	fiancée.	His	father had	died	during	the	rebellion	when	an	Imperial	missile	hit	his	building.

Thinking	it	was	an	odd	question,	Alf	replied,	"Still	mum,	but	if	I	don't	make it	out,	tell	my	boss	at	the	workshop.	Talk	later,	I	hope."

He	dropped	the	device	in	his	pocket	and	walked	over	to	the	equipment	stacks at	the	pit's	edge	to	find	Elsbeth	and	Brian	confronting	a	smirking	Chris.

"What's	the	problem,"	he	said,	walking	right	up	to	the	thug.

"No	one	goes	in,	Mr	Charles'	orders,"	sneered	Chris.	"We're	waiting	on another	consultant.	He	goes	in	first."

Alf	dropped	his	pack	on	Chris's	foot.	"Tell	Hatch	and	Mr	Charles	you	passed the	message	on."

Chris	was	wearing	a	shoulder	holster	over	a	sweater	–	the	desert	was	cold	at night	–	but	Alf	was	standing	far	too	close	for	the	thug	to	have	any	hope	of drawing	it.	However,	he	was	almost	as	big	as	Alf	and	had	only	to	yell	to	get help.

"Turn	around	and	go	back	to	your	tents,	you	fucks,"	he	snarled,	then	filled his	lungs,	meaning	to	yell.

Alf	hit	Chris	in	the	stomach	with	his	left,	the	air	in	the	thug's	lungs	coming out	in	a	soundless	gasp,	then	savagely	punched	his	opponent	twice	on	the	side	of the	jaw	with	his	right,	grabbing	the	thug	before	he	fell	to	the	ground.	He clamped	one	hand	over	the	still	conscious	Chris's	mouth,	pushing	the	jaw	up	so the	thug	could	not	bite.

"Brian,	the	masking	tape	in	that	container	quick,"	whispered	Alf.	"He's	too big	to	hold	for	long.	"Elsbeth,	grab	what	we	need."

With	Brian's	help,	Chris'	mouth	was	taped	shut,	his	wrists	and	ankles	bound.

Alf	grabbed	the	thug's	pistol	and	shoulder	holster	and	found	a	spare	magazine	in a	pocket.	He	looked	around.	Only	Chris	had	been	on	guard	duty	at	the	pit.	The guard	at	the	gate	was	out	of	sight	and	the	other	thugs	seemingly	slept	on.	He threw	the	securely	bound	Chris	over	the	edge	of	the	pit,	a	drop	of	less	than	two metres	–	the	thug	landed	with	a	distinct	thud	and	a	muffled	curse	–	then	sorted out	what	they	were	taking.

When	they	got	into	the	pit,	Alf	dragged	Chris	by	the	back	of	the	sweater	and tee	shirt	to	the	city	entrance,	then	picked	him	up	when	they	stepped	inside.	Once through	the	main	airlock	and	in	the	city	proper,	Alf	threw	the	thug	to	one	side	in the	corridor	and	walked	on	without	a	backward	glance.

"Will	he	be	alright?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Unfortunately,	yes,"	said	Alf.	"I	didn't	damage	his	jaw	seriously,	and	I	don't think	anything	else	is	broken	–	much.	His	mood	will	not	be	the	best,	however, when	they	find	him	and	set	him	free.	I	wouldn't	try	to	strike	up	a	friendly conversation	with	him	if	you	happened	to	meet,	you	know,	bid	Chris	a	cheery good	morning	or	remark	on	the	fine	weather,	that	sort	of	thing."

"No	problem	there,"	said	Elsbeth.	"You	acted	so	fast	I	could	barely	follow what	you	did.	You've	been	trained	for	that	sort	of	thing?"

"Soldier	and	kickboxing,"	was	all	Alf	said.

"Don't	think	we'll	be	going	out	that	way	to	have	conversations	with	any	of them	once	they	find	that	guy,"	said	Brian.

"True,"	said	Alf,	"but	if	they	weren't	going	to	let	us	back	into	the	city,	then maybe	they're	just	waiting	on	the	word	to	have	loose	ends	–	us	–	disposed	of.	I think	there	was	some	guy	before	us	who	didn't	prove	of	any	use,	so	Thumper offed	him.	We're	safer	in	the	city	–	if	we	can	find	a	way	out,	and	all	I've	got	with me	to	dig	is	the	camping	shovel."

When	she	got	to	the	police	station	that	morning,	Ellen	Pullen	found	herself humming.	She	was	happy!	Why	was	this	so?	Alf	had	messaged	her	that	he	and his	two	colleagues	were	fleeing	into	the	city,	which	should	be	a	cause	for concern.	The	air	in	the	city	was	still	bad	and	they	would	not	have	much	time	to find	a	way	out.	However,	they	could	still	come	up	closer	to	the	entrance	and	wait there	for	the	rescue	effort	she	hoped	to	be	able	to	organise,	because	she	was about	to	send	out	the	investigation	file	to	everyone	she	could	think	of.	Edited	to remove	references	to	ongoing	investigations,	the	file	would	be	sent	to	the commissioner,	his	deputies,	the	heads	of	the	various	specialist	squads,	various colleagues	–	even	her	ex-husband	–	and	the	offices	of	all	the	senior	politicians.

The	time	for	sneaking	around	was	over.	Sure,	she	would	take	some	flak	for releasing	the	file	generally.	However,	as	it	did	not	mention	any	wrongdoing being	investigated,	she	was	technically	not	breaching	any	regulations.

There	was	also	the	point	that	she	had	double-checked	Alf's	relationship status	by	asking	about	his	next	of	kin	and	had	received	a	reply	that	she	found satisfactory.	Maybe	when	he	returned,	and	he	had	come	clean	about	his	identity and	submitted	to	court	judgment	–	with	even	a	sliver	of	luck,	he	would	just	draw a	fine	or	community	work	orders	–	she	would	then	be	free	to	date	him	rather than	arrest	him.	She	told	herself	it	was	all	madness;	she	had	spoken	to	him directly	only	a	handful	of	times,	but	she	had	a	dossier	on	his	career,	which	she had	checked	(she	never	had	a	dossier	on	her	ex-husband).	Alf	had	good prospects,	and	she	was	only	talking	about	dating.	Every	time	she	went	over	this argument,	she	tried	pushing	the	issue	to	one	side	for	later	reference.	However, she	found	her	thoughts	always	wandered	back	to	the	ex-rebel.

She	sat	at	her	desk,	called	up	the	edited	file	she	had	been	working	on	last night,	and	added	the	list	of	mail	recipients.	Her	finger	was	poised	to	tap	the	send panel	when	Inspector	Barastoc	asked	her	to	come	to	his	office	rather	abruptly, she	thought.	Well,	she	would	find	out	what	he	wanted	first.

Barastoc's	office	had	windows	that	allowed	him	to	see	what	was	happening in	the	detective's	room	but	could	be	turned	opaque	at	the	touch	of	a	button, which	he	did	for	the	first	time	that	Ellen	could	remember.

"Close	the	door,	sit	down,"	he	said	in	the	same	abrupt	tone.

Ellen	did	so,	then	noticed	the	satellite	photo	printout	with	the	markings	she had	made	on	his	desk.

"You've	been	making	inquiries	without	checking	with	me	first,"	said Barastoc.

"Just	chasing	up	some	leads	between	cases,"	said	Ellen.

"Off	the	books	–	there	is	no	official	file	on	this."

"Well,	off	the	books,	sure,"	said	Ellen,	trying	to	keep	calm	although	her	pulse was	racing.	"Is	there	a	problem?"

"You	should	keep	me	informed	about	any	investigations.	What	is	this about?"

"You	mean	this	picture	I	thought	was	in	my	desk	drawer?	It's	a	camouflaged site	in	the	desert."

"The	site	of	this	crashed	craft."

"That	may	be,	sir.	I'm	looking	at	the	disappearance	of	one	Jubilee	Egret,	the case	you	assigned	to	myself	and	senior	constable	Pye."	Now	aware	that	her conversation	may	later	be	subject	to	legal	scrutiny,	Ellen	reverted	to	the	formal language	of	police	reports.	"I	now	suspect	Egret	might	have	been	lured	to	the site	with	the	promise	of	a	reward	for	opening	locks."

"Locks?	How	do	you	know	this?"

"His	specialty	is	electronic	locks,	sir.	When	I	interviewed	his	sister,	she passed	on	a	remark	he	had	made	about	the	gig	or	job	being	in	the	desert.	You	had us	looking	for	people	who	might	be	recruited	to	go	to	an	unspecified	crash	site, you	remember."

"I	remember.	How	did	you	find	this	site?"

"I	used	AI	assistance	to	make	a	search,	sir,"	said	Ellen.	That	was	the	best cover	story	she	could	think	of	at	the	time.	"Egret's	sister	said	that	she	thought	it was	beyond	the	marshlands,	and	it's	amazing	what	you	can	do	with	AI assistance."

"Then	how	did	you	know	that	the	injured	guy	you	interviewed	in	hospital	fell over	in	the	back	of	a	van?"

"You're	referring	to	my	interview	with	Bianchi,	sir?"	said	Ellen.	"If	you recall,	the	interview	yielded	nothing	useful,	and	I	didn't	say	anything	about	a	van in	the	police	report."

"I	heard	this	from	other	sources."

"Other	sources,	sir?	Bianchi	has	strong	links	to	the	crime	boss	Charles."

"What	are	you	implying?"	said	Barastoc	sharply.

"I'm	not	implying	anything,	sir.	I	was	curious	about	the	other	source	you mentioned,	given	the	circumstances.

"Did	you	say	anything	about	a	van?"

"I	don't	recall	off-hand,	sir,"	said	Ellen	carefully.	"I	would	have	to	look	at	my interview	files.	If	I	did,	it	would	just	be	a	guess."

"A	guess	about	a	van?"	said	Barastoc.	"Then	there	is	the	problem	of	not informing	me	about	the	search	warrants."

"That	was	an	oversight	on	my	part,	sir,"	said	Ellen,	"for	which	I	apologised.

Those	warrants	yielded	a	lot	of	material	for	the	squads	at	central,	if	you	recall."

"Oh	yes,	I	remember.	The	serious	crime	squad	is	now	tearing	apart	the	life	of that	guy	who	was	shot..."

"Junot	Romero,	sir,	a	person	previously	known	to	us."

"...	Yes,	a	known	thug."	The	inspector	opened	the	right-hand	drawer	of	his desk,	which	Ellen	thought	was	odd.	"See,	sergeant,	I	don't	think	you're	being entirely	straight	with	me."

"I'm	sorry	to	hear	you	say	that,	sir,"	said	Ellen.

"I	want	you	to	hand	over	any	investigation	files	concerning	that	crash	site	to me	at	once."

"I	can	do	that,	sir."	The	inspector	was	on	the	list	of	people	who	would receive	the	file.

"And	not	show	it	to	anyone	else."

"That	may	be	more	difficult,	sir,"	she	said.

"Difficult,	how?"

The	time	for	caution	had	passed.	It	had	to	be	open	defiance.	"Too	many people	now	know	about	the	secret	of	the	crash	site."

"The	secret	of	a	crashed	spaceship?"

"It's	not	a	spaceship	at	all,	sir.	It's	a	gigantic,	underground	city	built	by	an alien	civilisation	previously	unknown	to	us.	Mr	Charles	put	about	the	crashed ship	story	as	a	reason	to	recruit	skilled	people	to	open	the	sealed	doors	to	the	city and	loot	it	–	specifically	take	the	weapons	in	an	armoury	they	found."

Barastoc	digested	this	for	a	moment,	rocking	in	his	chair.	"Shit!"	he	said eventually.

"The	find	is	just	too	big,	too	empire	shattering	to	conceal,"	said	Ellen.

Barastoc	reached	into	the	open	desk	drawer,	pulled	out	his	service	pistol,	and pointed	it	at	Ellen.

"We	can	try,"	he	said.

The	consultants	found	Sill	waiting	for	them	by	the	fountain,	but	Alf	insisted they	keep	moving.

"Shade,"	he	said	to	the	android,	waving	as	the	droid	had	done.	Whether	he got	the	word	right	or	not,	Sill	seemed	to	understand,	following	the	humans	to	the android	workshop,	where	there	were	a	few	small	chairs	and	a	table.	Elsbeth	put her	books	and	notes	on	the	table	and	got	down	to	the	serious	business	of communicating.

She	had	marked	various	pages	with	torn-up	bits	of	napkin	and	had	written out	the	alphabets	of	both	The	Engineer's	Language	and	Spacer	on	the	back	of	a romance	paperback	she	had	brought	with	her.	The	linguist	would	tap	out	words on	Alf's	little	device	which,	thanks	to	the	downloaded	app,	could	give	the equivalent	in	Spacer.	After	some	fumbling	with	the	alphabet,	she	would	find	the word	in	the	Spacer	side	and	Sill	could	look	at	the	definition	in	his	language.	He would	respond	by	pointing	at	a	word	in	The	Engineer's	side	of	the	dictionary.

Elsbeth	could	then	use	the	image	recognition	software	in	the	device	to	check	out the	Spacer	definition	of	the	word	in	English.	As	all	words	had	to	be	dragged through	three	languages	using	low-grade	auto-translate	software	hooked	to	an image-recognition	system	on	a	tiny	tracking	device	not	designed	for	such	work, it	was	slow	going	with	plenty	of	scope	for	misunderstanding.

Another	complication,	which	Elsbeth	told	them	about	later,	was	that	they	did not	know	whether	The	Engineer's	language	was	high	context	or	low	context.

"English	is	low	context	–	the	words	have	the	same	meaning,	mostly,	no matter	who's	speaking	and	in	what	circumstances,	although	there	are complications	like	irony	and	sarcasm,"	she	said.	"The	classic	high	context language,	however,	is	Japanese,	and	the	prime	example	often	given	is	a	part	of the	Emperor	of	Japan's	speech	during	a	radio	broadcast	announcing	Japan's surrender	at	the	end	of	World	War	Two	on	Earth.	With	the	navy	and	air	force destroyed,	cities	bombed	to	ashes,	and	enemy	armies	on	his	country's	doorstep, the	emperor	said	that	'the	war	situation	has	developed	not	necessarily	to	Japan's advantage.'	It	sounds	strange	to	us,	but	any	Japanese	of	the	time	who	heard	their revered	God-Emperor	even	hint	that	things	were	bad	knew	that	Japan	had	lost the	war."

Alf	and	Brian	listened	to	the	linguist's	efforts	with	Sill	while	they	explored the	workshop's	lockers.

"Exit	city,"	said	Elsbeth.	She	could	not	speak	Spacer	and	still	knew	little	of Sill's	language,	so	she	just	said	the	words	in	English	while	she	pointed	at	what she	hoped	were	their	near	equivalents	in	the	dictionary.	"Not	there."	She	pointed in	the	general	direction	of	the	entrance	they	had	used.

Sill	pointed	at	a	word	in	the	dictionary.	"Blocked,	stopped,	barred,"	read Elsbeth.





"Where?"	She	pointed	at	the	word	in	Spacer.	"Open,	good,"	she	pointed	at Brian	and	Alf.

Sill	pointed	at	another	word.	"Buried,	covered	over,	hidden,"	read	Elsbeth.

"Try,	um...	have	to."

"Why?"

"Trouble."	Elsbeth	pointed	at	the	entrance	they	had	used.	"Creatures	kill	us."

She	thumped	her	chest.

Sill	looked	surprised	and	pointed	at	more	words.	"Why	kill?"

"Bad	people."

That	seemed	to	puzzle	the	creature,	but	he	pointed	at	more	words.	"You leave,	come	back?"

"You,"	Elsbeth	pointed	at	Sill,	"shade."	She	gestured	to	indicate	the	group, then	looked	for	words	she	had	found:	"Come	with	us."

Sill	looked	genuinely	surprised,	then	pointed	at	two	words	in	the	dictionary.

"Leave	city?"	read	Elsbeth.

"Yes,"	she	nodded.	"With	us."

The	creatures	stood	up	and	then	pointed	at	another	word.

"Speedy,	fast,"	said	Elsbeth	after	some	more	fumbling.

"Guess	he's	gotten	sick	of	being	cooped	up	here,"	said	Alf.

CHAPTER	FIFTEEN

Ellen	stared	at	the	pistol	Barastoc	pointed	at	her	for	a	moment	before	recovering herself.

"You	wouldn't	dare!"	she	said.	"We're	in	the	middle	of	a	police	station."

"And	I'm	an	inspector,"	said	Barastoc.	"As	it	happens,	the	chief	inspector	is off	at	a	meeting,	so	I'm	the	senior	officer.	But	it's	not	just	the	police.	You	have	no idea	how	deep	this	goes."

"All	I	see	is	one	bent	policeman	holding	a	pistol,"	sneered	Ellen.

"There	are	others,	including	your	ex.	Then	there's	the	Proconsul's	office,	the auxiliaries,	the	senate.	The	list	goes	on."

"And	what	do	you	conspirators	hope	to	do,	apart	from	shoot	me	for	revealing an	archaeological	find?"

"Shoot	you	before	you	can	reveal	an	archaeological	find,	you	mean?"

"Too	late	for	that,"	said	Ellen,	acutely	conscious	that	she	had	yet	to	send	the file	but	had	told	Samantha	everything.	"The	file's	gone	to	everyone	I	can	think of,	including	you.	Should	be	in	your	messages	soon."

Barastoc	looked	down	at	his	digital	assistant	to	see	if	any	such	message arrived.	Ellen	took	that	moment	to	stand	up.

The	inspector's	eyes	snapped	back.

"Sit	down,	Ellen!"

Standing	to	the	left	of	the	doorway,	Ellen	took	one	step	back,	turned	the handle	on	the	door,	and	flung	it	open.

"I'm	warning	you,"	said	Barastoc.

"Everyone!"	she	yelled.	"Inspector	Barastoc	has	an	important	announcement to	make."

As	it	happened,	one	of	the	male	detectives	was	passing	the	door	–	a	beefy, well-meaning	young	detective	constable	who	had	unsuccessfully	asked	Ellen	out for	drinks	–	and	poked	his	head	in,	catching	a	glimpse	of	Barastoc's	pistol	as	he hurriedly	hid	the	weapon.

"Eh,	boss,"	said	the	constable,	puzzled.

Ellen	pushed	past	him,	then	shoved	the	constable	into	the	door	to	block Barastoc's	view	as	others	arrived	to	hear	the	'announcement.'	She	dived	into	her desk	and	sent	the	file	with	its	covering	note.	Waiting	for	the	file	to	work	through its	long	list	of	contacts,	Ellen	unlocked	the	drawer	with	her	police	weapon	just	as she	heard	Barastoc	speaking	her	name	and	saw	two	of	her	fellow	officers	look	in her	direction.	Time	to	go.

"Ellen,	what's	going	on?"	whispered	Samatha	from	the	next	desk.

"Barastoc	just	pulled	a	gun	on	me	to	stop	that	file	from	going	out."	She gestured	at	the	screen.

"What?"

"Grab	your	stuff	and	walk	out	through	the	front	door	now.	Go	and	see	that media	contact	we	talked	about.	I'll	explain	more	by	phone.	Move."

Ellen	thought	Barastoc	might	try	to	bar	her	from	leaving	the	building	but would	not	immediately	do	the	same	for	Samantha.	The	senior	constable	could walk	out.	But	Ellen	thought	that	she	might	have	to	dodge	out	the	back	entrance.

She	made	for	the	corridor.

After	a	few	questions	about	how	Sill	remained	powered,	the	alien	android led	them	down	more	corridors	to	another	room	stacked	with	metal	boxes.	Sill opened	one	box	on	the	floor	in	front	of	the	others	to	show	that	it	was	packed with	foil-covered	packages,	each	about	the	size	and	shape	of	a	gold	bar.	Alf carefully	unwrapped	the	foil	of	one	to	find	that	it	contained	a	substance	of	the same	color	and	consistency	as	mud	cake.	Sill	mimed	eating	the	material.

"Must	be	a	concentrated	energy	cake	like	a	protein	bar	for	us,"	said	Alf.	"He would	have	a	system	that	digests	it	and	generates	power	from	the	material	like our	digestive	system.	How	about	that?	He's	a	walking	bio-battery.	Oxygen	is	also a	big	part	of	our	energy	system,	but	Sill	doesn't	breathe,	so	this	must	be	powerful stuff.	Can	you	ask	him	how	many	of	these	cakes	he	eats	a	day	or	a	week,	or whatever?"

After	Elsbeth	laboriously	asked	this	question,	Sill	pointed	at	one	cake,	then at	the	word	for	days,	and	then	at	three.

"Three	days.	Concentrated	stuff.	Hold	on.	One	box	has	about	thirty	cakes,	so that's	around	three	months;	four	boxes	to	a	year	of	our	time."	In	fact,	the	year	for the	planet	they	were	on	was	a	little	shorter	than	that	of	Earth,	and	the	days	were half	an	hour	longer,	but	details	could	wait.

"How	many	boxes	has	he	gone	through?"	asked	Brian.

"We	can	tell	how	many	boxes	were	here	originally	from	dust	lines	on	the floor,"	said	Alf.	"Maybe	here,	he	pointed	at	a	spot	on	the	floor,	"and	stacked	up as	high	as	that	back	row?"	Some	pantomime	with	Sill	later,	they	worked	out	that he	had	eaten	his	way	through	nine	hundred	and	seventy-two	boxes	or	two hundred	and	forty-three	years'	worth	of	energy	cake,	give	or	take.

"Poor	guy,"	said	Elsbeth.

"He's	AI,"	said	Alf.	"Being	alone	in	the	dark	for	so	long	wouldn't	bother	him as	much	as	anything	bio,	but	it	wouldn’t	be	much	fun.	No	wonder	he	wants	to leave.	Everyone,	grab	a	few	cakes	to	carry.	Elsbeth,	tell	Sill	to	eat	some	now."

Sill	ate	by	grabbing	chunks	of	the	cake,	pushing	them	into	his	mouth,	and swallowing.	Then	he	surprised	his	human	companions	by	going	to	one	corner	of the	room	they	had	not	inspected	and	turning	a	wheel.	Water	came	out,	splashing into	a	small	stone	trough.

"Where	does	that	come	from?"	asked	Brian.

"We're	some	way	down,"	said	Alf,	"but	still	inside	a	hill.	It	must	be	a naturally	occurring	spring	they've	piped	through	here.	From	the	mountains, maybe?	Any	reservoir	would've	run	out	long	ago."

Sill	took	a	plastic	cup	from	the	floor	beside	the	basin	and	swallowed	two cups	of	water.	Then	he	picked	up	a	small	device	they	had	also	not	seen	before, plugged	it	into	the	two	tubes	they	had	previously	noticed	in	his	abdomen,	and worked	a	lever	on	the	device	several	times.	The	result	was	a	sticky	goo	with	an unpleasant	smell	pumped	into	a	small,	transparent	chamber	on	the	device.	Sill emptied	the	goo	into	the	stone	basin,	washed	it	out	thoroughly,	then	allowed	Alf to	look	at	it.

"A	way	of	handling	the	discharge	from	the	bio	digestion	battery,"	he	said.

"Elsbeth,	we'll	want	to	take	this	with	us."

Elsbeth	found	the	word	she	thought	meant	'take'	in	the	dictionary	and	pointed at	the	device.	Sill	nodded,	then	gestured	at	two	small,	metal	contacts	embedded in	his	shoulder	beside	his	neck.	The	humans	had	not	noticed	them	before.

"I	think	they're	recharging	points,"	said	Brian,	inspecting	them	with	his	big flashlight.

"A	back-up	battery	recharge	system,"	said	Alf.	"When	we	run	out	of	cake, we	can	hook	him	up	to	a	power	point.	I've	said	it	before,	but	I'll	say	it	again: these	guys	really	knew	about	engineering."

As	they	packed	up	and	used	the	stone	basin	to	dispose	of	their	bodily	wastes

–	the	males	going	into	the	next	room	to	give	Elsbeth	privacy,	they	spent	a	few minutes	working	out	why	Sill	had	been	left	behind.

"Sent	ship,"	said	Elsbeth	as	the	android	pointed	at	words.	"Start	sleep	couch.

Woke	up.	No	crew.	All	gone."

"He	was	assigned	to	a	ship	and	put	in	stasis,"	said	Alf,	"but	they	must've reassigned	the	crew,	decided	not	to	use	the	ship,	and	he	was	overlooked.	He must	have	woken	up	when	the	power	went	off.	But	this	also	means	that	the	ship must	still	be	here.	Ask	him."

"Ship	here?"	said	Elsbeth,	pointing	at	words.

Sill	nodded	and	pointed	further	along	what	Alf	thought	might	be	the	long axis	of	the	city.

"Field	trip,	guys,"	said	Alf.	"I'm	not	wandering	around	this	city	without seeing	this	ship.	There	must	be	an	exit	nearby,	too."

"Alien	ship	sounds	good,"	said	Brian.

Ellen	skirted	around	the	vehicles	in	the	police	station's	basement	garage, keeping	out	of	sight	of	the	garage's	single	security	camera.	Her	vehicle,	an electric	three-wheeler	with	a	canopy	–	earlier	generations	on	earth	would	have thought	of	it	as	an	undecorated	Asian	Tuk-tuk	–	was	also	in	the	garage,	but	she did	not	take	it.	The	vehicle	was	too	easy	for	Barastoc	to	trace.

Instead,	keeping	to	the	walls,	she	made	for	the	exit,	barred	only	by	a	boom gate.	It	would	be	easy	for	a	person	to	slip	out,	and	that's	what	she	would	do, trying	not	to	make	too	much	sound	without	obviously	seeming	to	sneak.	When she	got	right	up	close	to	the	sentry	box,	on	the	blind	side	of	its	single	occupant, she	heard	the	constable	say	on	the	intercom,	in	puzzlement,	"You	want	me	to stop	Sergeant	Pullen?	Guys,	what's	going	on?"

"Dunno,"	came	the	response.	"Inspector	Barastoc	wants	her	stopped."

"Must	be	some	sort	of	drill,"	said	the	constable,	whom	Ellen	knew	as	Wayne, an	officer	serving	out	the	last	few	years	of	his	career	in	an	undemanding	job.	She was	going	to	slip	out	the	exit	without	speaking	to	him	when	he	turned	to	admit	a patrol	car	and	glimpsed	Ellen	out	of	the	corner	of	his	eye.

"Oh,	hi,	sergeant,"	he	said.	"I've	been	told	to	stop	you."

"Really?"	said	Ellen,	feigning	astonishment	while	moving	around	the	sentry box	and	flipping	open	the	door.	Her	gun	was	in	her	hand.

The	sentry's	eyes	widened	in	astonishment.

"Sorry,	Wayne,	but	it's	a	drill.	The	inspector's	testing	security.	You	know	how it	is."	She	took	the	constable's	pistol	and	used	the	muzzle	to	push	the	button	that opened	the	boom	gate.	"Come	with	me	for	a	few	moments."	She	did	not	want	the constable	pushing	any	alarms	or	calling	the	front	desk	until	she	was	clear,	and she	certainly	did	not	want	to	shoot	him.

"I'm	not	supposed	to	leave	the	gate,"	said	Wayne	as	Ellen	pulled	him	out.

"It's	just	for	a	few	moments,"	said	Ellen.	"We'll	just	walk	around	the	back	of the	shops	here."	They	walked	clear	of	the	station	and	around	the	back	of Marshland's	shopping	centre.	The	area	was	not	big	enough	for	a	full,	multi-level shopping	mall,	but	it	had	a	host	of	shops	lining	two	sides	of	a	pedestrian	mall with	parking	at	the	back	that	served	much	the	same	function	as	a	full	centre without	the	high	rents.	Despite	all	the	advances	in	ordering	online	and	automated delivery,	people	still	liked	to	shop	and	have	lunch	out.	The	police	station	was	at one	end	of	the	mall,	and	an	elevated	monorail	station	with	an	automated	taxi	line was	at	the	other.	Ellen	kept	talking	as	they	walked.

"How	are	Wilma	and	the	kids	and	the	grandkids	now?	One	on	the	way,	I believe."

"They're	all	fine,"	said	Wayne,	in	spite	of	himself.	"My	Vivien	is	due	in about	two	months."

"Wilma	must	be	excited?"

"Well,	yeah,	our	spare	bedroom	is	looking	like	a	baby	goods	store."

Ellen	stopped	at	the	back	of	a	coffee	shop,	where	she	knew	she	could	walk through	to	the	mall.

"Wayne,	sorry,	but	I'm	going	to	drop	your	gun	into	this	street	drain."

"What?"

"You	can	just	lift	the	grate	to	get	it	back.	I'm	afraid	I	wasn't	honest	with	you.

This	isn't	a	security	drill.	Barastoc	pulled	a	gun	on	me	in	his	office."

"Say,	what?	For	star's	sake,	why?"

"Because	he's	in	league	with	Mr	Charles	and	wanted	to	stop	me	sending	out a	file	about	an	underground	city	in	the	desert	dug	by	a	previously	unknown	alien civilisation	–	that's	why."

Wayne	took	a	moment	to	digest	this	as	Ellen	dropped	his	pistol	into	the drain.	"Is	there	anyone	still	in	this	city?"	he	said	eventually.

"Abandoned	long	ago.	I	hope	you'll	read	all	about	it	soon,	and	I'll	buy	you lunch	to	make	up	for	this."

Wayne	looked	down	at	the	grate	to	see	where	his	weapon	had	gone,	and when	he	looked	up,	Ellen	had	disappeared.

Down	in	the	city,	the	trio	of	humans	and	Sill	climbed	several	floors	to	what Alf	thought	of	as	the	city's	public	areas.	The	one	notable	incident	of	the	journey was	that	while	Elsbeth	was	using	the	tracking	device,	she	found	Sergeant Pullen's	query	about	his	former	fiancée	and	next	of	kin.

"You	were	engaged?"	she	said.

"A	while	back	now.	She	died	during	the	rebellion."

"That's	a	shame,	but	it	sounds	like	your	sergeant	is	checking	your relationship	status."

"She's	not	my	sergeant,	and	she	still	calls	me	slime."

Thanks	to	the	entrance	having	been	open	for	several	days,	by	that	time,	the air	was	better	in	the	upper	floors,	and	the	longer	they	could	stay	off	the	air	tanks they	had	brought	with	them,	the	longer	they	would	last.	To	also	conserve	battery power,	they	were	only	using	the	light	on	Brian's	helmet.	But	when	they	emerged on	the	main	processional	way,	Alf	abruptly	pushed	the	button	of	Brian's	helmet to	switch	the	light	off	and	pulled	both	Elsbeth	and	Brian	behind	one	of	the statues.	Elsbeth	pulled	Sill	behind	her.

"Shhh!	Light,"	he	whispered.

The	others	also	saw	a	faint	glimmer	in	the	distance	and	huddled	closer behind	the	statue.	Elsbeth	put	her	finger	in	front	of	her	mouth	–	a	gesture	Sill





had	previously	been	told	meant	to	make	no	sound.

The	glimmer	grew	into	a	pool	of	light	around	three	humans.	Besides	Hutch, there	was	another	thug	called	Bar,	short	for	Barret,	whom	Alf	suspected	of	being a	total	animal.	A	short,	squat,	round	faced,	unshaven	man	with	lank	hair,	Bar	had mostly	been	guarding	the	desert	entrance	to	the	camp	up	to	that	point.	The	third man,	older	than	the	others	and	gaunt-faced	–	he	looked	like	a	minor	character	in one	of	the	old-style	Westerns	from	Earth	–	had	not	been	seen	in	the	camp	before, but	Alf	thought	he	looked	familiar.

"Still	say	we	should	have	offed	all	three,"	Bar	could	be	heard	saying	as	the group	approached.	"Well,	off	the	two	guys,	then	do	the	girl	before	offing	her."

Alf	sensed	Elsbeth	stiffening	with	indignation	and	put	a	warning	hand	on	her arm.

"For	star's	sake,	keep	your	voice	down,	Bar,"	said	Hutch.	"Alf	handled	Chris without	breaking	a	sweat,	and	now	he	has	Chris's	gun.	He	could	be	anywhere down	here."

"Mr	Charles	does	not	want	any	of	that	group	killed	yet,"	said	the	older	man.

"The	ships	down	here	are	of	prime	importance.	They	will	be	needed	for	those."

The	newcomers	turned	off	the	processional	way	at	the	main	access	door	for the	generators,	within	metres	of	the	consultants	and	Sill.

"Then	can	we	off	them?"	grumbled	Bar.

"Mr	Charles	has	to	authorise	any	killings,"	said	the	older	man.	"The	police have	been	asking	about	that	other	man."

The	group	went	through	the	access	door	and	the	consultants	breathed	a	sigh of	relief.	Alf	could	probably	have	shot	all	three,	but	he	had	no	reason	to	do	so and	was	aware	he	had	to	answer	to	a	police	sergeant.

"Do	the	girl,"	muttered	Elsbeth	fiercely.	"Really!"

"At	least	now	we	know	what	all	this	trouble	is	about,"	said	Alf.	"Somehow, they	know	that	there	are	still	spaceships	in	this	city.	I	thought	it	might	be	about weapons	–	and	it	may	still	be	partly	about	that	-	but	ships	make	more	sense	if you	can	make	them	work	after	more	than	two	centuries	sitting	on	the	ground."

"That's	where	we	come	in,	I	guess,"	said	Brian.	"Who	was	the	older	dude?"

"I've	seen	him	somewhere	before,"	said	Alf,	"but	not	for	years.	It'll	come	for me.	For	now,	let's	find	these	ships.	Lead	on,	Sill.

CHAPTER	SIXTEEN

Ellen	knew	her	only	hope	was	to	keep	moving.	Creaghville	was	not	a	major Imperial	settlement,	but	it	still	had	lots	of	ways	for	the	police	to	track	suspects, of	which	she	was	all	too	keenly	aware.	For	one	thing,	she	still	had	her	personal assistant,	which	could	be	tracked	once	Barastoc	had	obtained	a	warrant.	But	he would	have	to	think	of	a	reason	for	a	warrant	and	apply	to	a	judge,	which	would take	time.	There	were	security	cameras	on	the	pedestrian	mall,	however,	and	no warrant	was	required	for	those.	Ellen	walked	as	quickly	as	she	could	down	the side	of	the	mall,	where	she	knew	she	would	be	difficult	to	spot	on	the	cameras	to the	transit	station.

Once	at	the	station,	she	swiped	her	card	to	open	the	first	automated	hire	taxi, punched	in	an	address	in	Creaghville's	CBD	that	she	happened	to	remember,	set up	the	payment,	tapped	start,	then	backed	out	and	shut	the	door.	The	taxi	went off,	its	basic	AI	unaware,	or	uninterested	in	the	fact,	that	there	was	no	paying customer	in	the	back.	After	that	deception,	she	went	around	the	back	of	the shops,	where	she	knew	there	were	few	security	cameras,	and	went	into	a	print shop,	flashing	a	badge	to	excuse	opening	the	back	door.	There,	she	connected her	personal	assistant	to	a	printer	to	print	a	few	pages	of	her	file.	Despite	all	the advances	in	technology	and	communications,	there	was	much	to	be	said	for	the communications	value	of	shoving	a	few	pages	under	someone's	nose.	After	that, she	would	walk	a	few	more	shops	along	and	borrow	the	Tuk-tuk	of	a	shop	owner who	owed	her	a	huge	favour.

Detective	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	would	keep	moving.

Sill	led	the	humans	past	the	assembly	hall	and	along	a	processional	way	on the	other	side,	the	blackness	and	utter	silence	of	that	vast	space	relieved	only	by the	light	from	Brian's	helmet	and	the	sound	of	their	feet	on	the	tiled	surface.

Occasionally,	a	statue	of	one	of	the	Engineers	would	loom	out	of	the	darkness, sometimes	startling	them.	Eventually,	Sill	turned	off	the	way	to	open	a	door.

"Okay,	let's	mark	the	turnoff,"	said	Alf.	"It's	between	a	statue	of	an	Engineer in	an	aviator's	hat	and	goggles	and	flying	costume,	I	guess,	and	...	umm,	a	statue of	a	Sill	in	a	ball	gown?"

"Looks	to	be,"	said	Elsbeth.	"First	time	I've	seen	any	of	these	statues	wearing what	looks	to	us	like	woman's	clothes."

"Not	just	female	characteristics,	at	least	to	our	eyes,"	said	Alf.	"Look	how much	bigger	she	is.	She's	taller,	and	her	body	is	much	wider	in	relation	to	her height	than	the	other	statues."

"Might	be	a	queen	bee	or,	in	this	case,	a	queen	lizard-chimp	thing,"	said Elsbeth.

"Maybe,"	said	Alf.	"We'll	note	the	point	and	hand	it	over	to	the	scholars.	No doubt	the	books	in	the	library	will	tell	us	more,	eventually."

They	went	deep	into	the	city,	losing	track	of	the	number	of	levels	they descended	in	what	Alf,	in	particular,	found	to	be	the	cramped	Sill	stairwells, putting	their	breathing	masks	back	on	at	the	first	level.	They	turned	into	a corridor	that	went	on	forever	until	it	abruptly	ended	in	an	open	door	–	a	door kept	open	by	what	looked	like	a	Sill	fire	extinguisher	placed	against	it.

"First	time	we've	seen	that,"	said	Brian.	"But	then	it's	got	a	security	lock.

That's	the	first	time	we've	seen	a	door	with	a	security	lock	we	haven't	had	to force."

Sill	must	have	guessed	what	they	were	talking	about	as	he	stepped	through the	door	onto	a	metal	walkway	that	seemed	to	go	out	into	space	and	pointed	to	a small	metal	box	fixed	to	one	railing.	After	checking	that	the	walkway	was securely	fastened	to	the	roof	of	the	chamber,	Alf	ventured	out	to	find	that	the	box contained	a	button	covered	by	a	transparent	case.	Sill	mimed	the	door	being closed	and	then	pushing	the	button.

"It	had	a	failsafe	on	this	side	in	case	the	door	was	locked,"	said	Alf.	"But	he put	that	fire	extinguisher	there	in	case	the	door	closed,	and	the	button	did	not work.	Considering	the	trouble	he	had	getting	into	the	workshop,	it's	not surprising."

"Must've	come	here	often,"	said	Brian.	"What	is	this	place?"

Alf	switched	on	one	of	the	flashlights	they	carried	and	played	it	out	over	the chamber	onto	what	seemed	like	a	curved	metal	wall.	After	playing	the	light	over this	wall,	it	occurred	to	Alf	that	it	was	the	hull	of	a	large	spaceship	on	landing struts.	They	could	see	the	cockpit	windows	at	one	end	in	an	otherwise	smooth outline	that	bore	a	distinct	resemblance	to	the	airplanes	of	Earth	without	the wings.

"Straight	aerodynamic	configuration,"	Alf	told	the	others	through	the	speaker on	his	breathing	mask.	"Looks	like	an	orbital	lifter.	Another	craft	on	the	other side	looks	like	it's	meant	to	go	interstellar,	and	there's	another	craft	further	on.

Looks	like	a	big	place.	Sill,	lead	on."

"Sill,	avo	shade,"	said	Elsbeth.

The	android	looked	surprised,	said,	"Sith,	shade,"	and	led	them	on.

"You	learning	to	speak	the	language?"	said	Alf.

"Couple	of	words	I	learned	last	night,	guessing	at	the	sound	of	the	letters,"

said	Elsbeth.	"I	can	also	tell	him	to	come	to	me,	but	that's	about	it."

"It's	a	good	start,"	said	Alf.

Behind	her	face	mask,	Elsbeth	beamed.

Sill	led	them	down	a	long,	rickety	metal	framework	staircase	to	the	bottom of	the	vast	chamber,	then	to	a	ship	beyond	the	one	the	humans	had	first	seen.	It was	a	big	craft,	as	they	later	found	out;	one	of	the	biggest	in	the	vast,	crowded hanger.	The	craft	resembled	an	old-fashioned	oversized	transport	plane	of	old Earth	and,	like	the	other	craft	in	the	hanger,	had	its	loading	ramp	down.

Inside,	the	ship	did	not	have	the	same	'packed-up,	swept-clean'	feel	of	the main	parts	of	the	city.	Personal	items	such	as	books	and	cups	had	been	left	on tables	in	the	crew	recreational	area,	clothes	had	been	left	on	bunks,	and	a	locker had	been	hanging	open	for	more	than	two	centuries.	Alf	found	a	navigational star	chart	on	the	table	beside	what	Alf	thought	was	the	lead	pilot's	station.	He took	it.	Otherwise,	apart	from	the	need	for	a	good	dusting,	the	craft	looked	as	if it	was	ready	to	take	off.

"No	wonder	Mr	Charles	and	Co	wanted	to	get	into	the	city,"	said	Alf.

"Somehow,	they	must	have	known	about	the	ships,	probably	through	the	same avenue	that	an	Engineer-Spacer	dictionary	ended	up	in	that	library.	The	ships seem	like	an	advance	on	human	tech.	Just	one	would	be	worth	a	fortune	even	if it	couldn't	be	restarted,	and	we've	seen,	what,	two	craft	on	this	side	of	the walkway	plus	another	on	the	other	side,	and	there	might	be	more."

"But	how	would	they	get	the	craft	out	or	sell	the	technology?"	asked	Brian.

"This	is	still	Imperial	territory	and	far	from	the	major	settlements."

"Good	question,"	said	Alf.	"Anyway,	this	archaeological	find	has	moved	up several	notches	from	massive	to	gargantuan.	Guys,	let's	poke	around	a	little	more outside	–	see	if	there's	a	mechanics	workshop	nearby	or	whatever	–	then	it's seriously	time	to	look	for	an	exit	we	can	use."

They	visited	the	stasis	couch	where	Sill	had	been	put	to	sleep	awaiting	the ship's	departure	–	a	departure	that	had	never	happened.	There	were	six	other stasis	couches	for	the	crew	who	had	been	reassigned	at	the	last	minute.

"Poor	guy,"	said	Elsbeth.

Having	satisfied	Sill	by	looking	at	the	stasis	couch	the	exploration	party	left the	ship,	walking	down	the	ramp.

"Alf,	look	at	this,"	said	Brian.

Alf	turned	to	see	Brian	pointing	at	a	control	panel	on	the	ramp,	which	long vanished	hanger	technicians	had	connected	by	a	cable	to	the	city's	control systems.	Neither	Alf	nor	Brian	had	glanced	at	the	panel	light	when	entering	the ship.	There	had	been	no	need.	But	Brian	had	spotted	a	change	in	the	eternal blackness	and	silence	of	the	city.	A	red	light	had	started	blinking.

Ellen	drove	into	Creaghville's	central	business	district	without	incident	and left	the	borrowed	car	in	a	parking	station.	She	hoped	she	was	a	step	or	so	ahead

of	Barastoc	and	that	she	only	had	to	keep	ahead	long	enough	to	drop	her information	bomb.	Samantha	was	already	on	her	way	to	meeting	with	an	online blogger	she	knew.	Creaghville	did	not	have	the	active	news	sector	of	Earth,	just a	couple	of	streaming	services	that	also	dealt	with	local	news	and	a	few	bloggers who	posted	items	of	varying	worth,	but	they	just	needed	one	of	those	to	post	the discovery,	and	the	rest	would	follow.	With	any	luck,	the	Imperial	Archive Service	would	pick	it	up	and,	after	checking,	send	the	item	all	through	the Empire.

That	left	the	problem	of	communicating	with	the	government.	Creaghville was	large	enough	to	have	its	own	senate,	which	handled	most	matters,	but officially	it	was	still	an	Imperial	colony.	That	meant	a	proconsul	oversaw	the Imperial	apparatus,	including	the	police	and	the	auxiliary	garrison	-	a	single company	thought	to	be	in	a	poor	state	of	military	preparedness.	The	present Proconsul,	Her	Excellency	Sara	Whychute,	had	been	in	the	job	three	months and,	from	what	Ellen	had	seen	from	news	feeds,	was	still	struggling	to	exert	her authority	over	an	administration	used	to	going	its	own	way,	which	seemed	to include	a	tolerance	of	corruption.	The	Proconsul	had	repeatedly	declared	that	she was	not	having	that.	Ellen	thought	she	could	at	least	get	a	hearing	with	Her Excellency.

However,	Ellen	also	knew	that	she	could	not	call	Her	Excellency	on	the phone.	Assistants	would	take	the	call,	say	they	would	review	the	material,	and bring	it	to	the	Proconsul's	notice	if	they	thought	it	worthy	of	her	attention.	Her information	would	be	referred	to	one	of	the	government	departments	for evaluation,	where	it	would	sit	in	someone's	e-in-tray	for	a	time.	In	any	case,	she had	already	sent	the	file	to	a	host	of	government	officials	and	senators.	A	direct approach	was	needed.

Ellen	switched	off	her	digital	assistant,	left	it	in	her	borrowed	electric	Tuk-tuk,	and	walked	to	the	Imperial	Administration	building.	This	was	easily	the most	imposing	building	in	the	CBD,	but	that	wasn't	saying	much	as	it	topped	out at	only	twenty	stories	–	a	height	that	would	barely	rate	a	mention	on	Earth.

However,	it	was	modern	and	had	all	the	security	features,	including	a	guard	who fretted	over	the	fact	that	Ellen	did	not	have	an	appointment	with	the	functionary she	had	named	in	the	Proconsul's	office	(the	one	she	had	elected	to	send	the	file to),	but	she	flashed	her	badge	and	–	after	checking	in	her	weapon	and	going through	scanners	was	allowed	to	get	to	the	elevators	with	access	to	the Proconsul's	office.

After	what	seemed	a	long	trip	up,	the	elevator	doors	opened	just	as emergency	sirens	started	blaring.	"Lockdown.	This	is	not	a	drill,"	a	computer-generated	voice	declared.	"Lockdown.	This	is	not	a	drill."





Ellen	hurriedly	stepped	through	the	elevator	doors	in	case	they	closed	as	part of	the	security	procedure.	The	receptionist,	who	seemed	to	be	more	of	a	security guard,	was	on	the	phone	but	looked	up	when	Ellen	came	out,	shouted,	"She's here,"	and	drew	his	pistol.	Another	guard,	standing	by	a	pillar,	also	drew	his weapon	and	shouted,	"On	the	ground,	now!"

Ellen	raised	her	hands.	In	the	distance	of	the	open	plan	office,	she	thought she	could	see	a	group	of	people	ushering	someone	in	the	group's	centre	away from	the	action.

"I'm	no	danger,"	shouted	Ellen,	holding	her	arms	up	high.	"I'm	a	police sergeant	come	to	tell	Her	Excellency	about	an	abandoned	buried	Alien	city	in	the desert	and	about	police	corruption."

The	small	group	moved	her	way	despite	various	officials	urging	the	person	at the	centre	to	move	the	other	way	while	Ellen	yelled	her	message	twice	more, ignoring	commands	to	get	down	on	the	ground.	Eventually,	the	group	stopped, and	a	diminutive,	white-haired	lady	stepped	out	to	look	at	Ellen.

"What	did	you	say?"	said	Her	Excellency	Sara	Whychute.

CHAPTER	SEVENTEEN

Brian	cleaned	the	dust	off	around	the	flashing	red	light,	a	pinprick	in	the darkness.

"There's	some	words	above	the	light,"	he	said.	"Can	Sill	tell	us	anything?"

Elspeth	went	through	the	drill	of	pointing	at	the	first	word	on	top	of	the	light and	looking	at	Sill,	who	found	it	in	the	Engineer-Spacer	part	of	the	dictionary.

Elspeth	then	read	the	results	through	the	device's	image	recognition	system	and Spacer	app.	There	were	plenty	of	choices	for	each	word.

"Whole,	matrix,	array,	collective,	system,"	she	read	for	the	first	word.	The next	word	was	"reface,	revisit,	refresh,	reboot.	My	guess	is	system	reboot."

"What	the	f...,"	said	Brian.

"Oh...	ho...	now	I	see,"	said	Alf.	"The	guys	we	saw	in	the	upper	chambers were	on	their	way	to	start	the	city	systems	by	pushing	that	button	I	told	you about.	They	must	have	done	it,	the	idiots,	and	it	worked."

"Would	it	be	so	bad	if	the	lights	came	on	down	here?"	asked	Brian.

"It's	not	the	lights	that	worry	me;	it's	the	security	systems	controlling	those security	droids	we	saw.	The	city	system	will	think	of	us	as	intruders."

"Oh...,"	said	Brian.	Then,	"Oh!"

Alf	stepped	off	the	ramp	and	looked	around.	He	thought	he	saw	red	dots	in the	distance.	Then,	on	the	walkway	far	above	them,	an	amber	light	started flashing.

"Guys,	I	think	we	should	start	moving,"	said	Alf.	"And	find	a	way	out."

"Sill	still	doesn't	know	of	any	way	out,"	said	Elspeth.

"This	area	must	have	doors	so	these	ships	can	leave,"	said	Alf.	"There	might be	a	side	door	we	can	unblock.	Ask	Sill	if	it's	this	way."

After	some	messing	around	with	the	dictionary,	the	party	turned	parallel	to the	walkway	and	started	walking.	Alf	thought	he	could	see	more	red	lights	in	the distance	and	another	flashing	amber	light	directly	ahead.	This	proved	to	be above	two	gigantic	doors	towering	above	them	in	the	gloom,	which	they	reached after	a	lengthy	trek.	When	the	city	was	operational,	the	two	doors	could	open out,	or	so	Alf	guessed.	They	looked	for	small	access	doors	and	found	a	hatch	on the	right	of	one	door	with	a	large	locking	wheel,	which	Alf	and	Brian	could	not move.	Elsbeth	found	a	small	screen	nearby,	which	lit	up	with	some	words	when the	hatch	wheel	was	touched.

"Security	protocol,"	translated	Elsbeth	with	Sill's	help.	"Hatches	locked	...

system	recovery."

"Oh,	great!"	muttered	Brian.	"Now	the	systems	work."

"Let's	go	back	up	into	the	city,"	said	Alf	after	a	moment's	thought.	"I	don't want	to	be	caught	down	here	in	the	open	when	the	place	goes	fully	operational."

They	could	still	see	little	in	the	gloom	but	could	see	where	the	walls	were due	to	the	flashing	red	lights,	and	Sill	knew	the	way,	light	or	dark.	By	the	time they	got	to	the	walkway,	larger	lights	had	come	on	in	the	distance,	and	they could	just	make	out	the	ceiling	above	them.	Once	they	were	back	through	the door	that	Sill	had	propped	open,	they	heard	a	reoccurring	buzzing	sound,	which made	Sill	notably	skittish.

Elsbeth	cupped	her	ear,	then	waved	her	hand	at	where	the	sound	seemed	to come	from.	Sill	pointed	at	the	dictionary.

"Alarm,"	said	the	linguistic	student.

Then	they	heard	two	words	in	the	language	of	The	Builders."

The	dictionary	was	put	to	work	again.	"Intruder...	alert,"	Elsbeth	said.

"Intruders	–	that's	us,"	said	Alf.	"We'd	better	move	away	from	the	door propped	open	–	bound	to	be	a	red	flag	for	the	security	system.	Which	way	is	the opposite	end	to	where	we	came	in?"

After	the	direction	had	been	sorted	out,	with	much	pointing	at	the	dictionary, Alf	opened	the	far	door	of	the	chamber	to	come	face	to	face	with	a	security droid.

"Your	ex-husband	was	taking	bribes	from	organised	crime	figures?"	said	the pro-counsel.	Ellen	and	Her	Excellency	Sara	Whychute	had	moved	to	a conference	table	in	the	Proconsul's	office.	The	alert	had	been	canceled	over	the strong	protests	of	two	advisors,	and	tea	had	been	served.

"He	still	is,	as	far	as	I	know,"	said	Ellen.	"I	made	some	noise	but	was promoted	and	moved	out	to	The	Marshes	on	the	condition	that	I	shut	up, basically.	No	one	was	interested	in	what	I	had	to	say.	The	media	also	wouldn't take	an	off	the	record	briefing.	I	had	to	go	on	the	record."

"And	you	would	have	been	a	marked	woman,"	said	Her	Excellency.

"It	was	made	very	clear	to	me,	ma'am."

Whychute	grunted.	"I	was	brought	in	to	clean	up	the	endemic	corruption here,	and	that's	the	first	honest	answer	I've	received	in	three	months.	You're talking	now,	I	might	point	out."

"When	my	inspector	pulled	a	gun	on	me,	I	figured	the	deal	was	off,"	said Ellen,	"and	my	only	option	was	to	find	you."

"Pulled	a	gun?	Oh	my,	you	have	had	an	interesting	day.	Never	mind	your inspector.	I	have	reserve	power	over	the	police.	I'm	going	to	invoke	it	and	second you	to	my	office	with	the	rank	of	inspector.	Put	together	a	list	of	people untainted	by	this	corruption	to	form	a	unit	and	then	work	out	some	way	of

tackling	the	problem	with	the	least	disruption.	You	report	directly	to	me;	you	do not	return	to	your	station	with	its	gun-happy	Inspector."

"Yes,	ma'am,	thank	you,	ma'am,"	said	Ellen.	The	promotion	would	make	her the	youngest	inspector	in	the	history	of	the	Creaghville	police	by	a	substantial margin,	that	is,	if	she	lived	long	enough	to	do	the	paperwork.

"We'll	keep	it	all	confidential	for	now,"	said	Whychute.	"Assemble	your team,	present	me	with	a	plan,	and	then	we'll	announce."

"Yes,	ma'am."

"Now,	tell	me	about	this	underground	city."

Alf	reacted	a	split	second	faster	than	the	droid	by	dropping	his	shoulder	and charging	into	the	machine.	Larger	and	heavier	than	the	droid,	an	oversized version	of	Sill,	and	moving	a	lot	faster,	Alf	knocked	the	creature	into	another behind	it	and	smashed	both	against	the	corridor	wall.	A	third	droid,	standing	to one	side,	staggered	and	then	brought	its	weapon	around	–	a	type	of	assault	rifle that	Alf	had	previously	seen	in	racks	in	the	security	trooper	rooms	–	only	for	the soldier	to	grab	the	weapon	and	yank	the	droid	on	to	the	others,	before	letting	the whole	mess	drop	to	the	floor.	The	third	droid	fired,	but	its	bullets	whistled harmlessly	up	the	corridor.

While	his	opponents	struggled	to	free	their	weapons,	Alf	twisted	the	third droid's	weapon	around	to	fire	point	blank	at	the	first	two	droids,	shredding	the head	of	one	and	the	chest	of	the	other.	They	stopped	fighting,	but	the	soldier could	not	shake	the	grip	of	the	third	droid	on	its	weapon.

"Brian,	Elspeth,"	panted	Alf.	"Get	that	heavy	unit	that	Sill	used	to	prop	that door	open.	We	won't	be	going	back	into	the	hanger."

He	pinned	the	droid	to	the	ground	then	stood	up,	feet	on	the	rifle	which	was on	the	creature's	rib	cage,	and	stayed	there,	the	droid	glaring	at	him,	unable	to move,	as	Elsbeth	and	Brian	carted	in	the	unit.	It	looked	like	the	sort	of	gas cylinder	people	on	Earth	might	have	used	on	outdoor	gas	fires	way	back	and might	have	been	a	fire	extinguisher.	Alf	did	not	care.	The	device	was	heavy	and sturdy.	He	took	it	from	the	two	scholars	and	rammed	it	down	several	times	as hard	as	he	could	on	his	opponent's	skull,	and	the	fight	was	over.

Brian	and	Elsbeth	looked	at	open-mouthed.

"I	can't	get	over	how	fast	you	can	move,"	said	Brian.	"Or	how	strong	you are."

"I	used	to	work	out,"	said	Alf.	"At	the	moment,	I'm	glad	I	can	move	fast."

He	noticed	that	the	tone	of	the	warning	had	changed	and	that	the	sound	had become	urgent.	Sill	tugged	at	Elsbeth's	sleeve,	then	pointed	at	the	dictionary.

"Major	...	alert,"	she	translated.	"Level	eight."

"I'm	guessing	we're	on	level	eight.	Guys,	we	need	to	roll.	Here..."	He	ripped the	assault	rifles	from	the	bodies	of	their	opponents,	looked	at	them	briefly,	and handed	one	each	to	Elsbeth	and	Brian,	who	looked	askance	at	them.	"Okay, weapons	technology	doesn't	change	much;	these	things	have	a	trigger	and	a barrel.	You	press	the	trigger,	and	bullets	come	out	of	the	barrel.	I	think	this	is	the safety.	Let's	see."

He	fired	a	short	burst	that	shattered	a	window	overlooking	the	hangar.	"Now, Elsbeth,	fire	at	the	other	window,	but	just	touch	the	trigger.	Fire	from	the	hip."

He	demonstrated.	"Difficult	to	miss	at	this	range."

Elsbeth	duly	shattered	her	window,	but	Brian	held	the	trigger	too	long.

"Whoa,	Brian	I	said	just	touch	it!	You've	shot	off	half	your	mag."

"Mag?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Magazine,	with	the	bullets	–	this	part.	I'll	have	to	work	out	how	to	get	the mags	on	and	off	later.	These	guys	had	spare	mags.	We'll	grab	those	and	go.	For the	moment,	don't	shoot	at	anything	unless	you're	real	close	and	not	when	I'm not	in	the	way."

He	looked	out	into	the	corridor,	this	time	more	cautiously,	and	led	them	in the	opposite	direction	to	the	way	they	had	come,	the	city's	warning announcement	still	ringing	in	their	ears.	Alf	thought	their	chances	of	getting	out of	the	city	were	now	slimmer.	For	the	first	time	he	was	worried.

In	the	governor's	office	in	Creaghville,	the	Proconsul	inspected	the	pictures collected	by	Alf,	Brian,	and	Elsbeth,	pausing	at	a	picture	of	Sill	standing	by Elsbeth.

"So	that's	what	they	look	like?"	she	said.

"The	creature	is	synthetic,	but	he's	been	made	in	the	image	of	the	city builders,"	said	Ellen,	"and	the	engineering	is	so	good	for	now	they've	decided	to call	the	race	"The	Engineers."

"Of	the	three	now	inside	the	city,	you've	only	met	Alf,	this	genetically	altered former	captain	in	the	Forgotten	Legion."

"And	sergeant	in	the	auxiliaries	with	a	commendation,	ma'am."

The	proconsul	looked	curiously	at	Ellen,	thinking	that	the	police	sergeant had	been	quick	to	point	to	the	positive	aspects	of	the	ex-rebel's	record.	She	had also	noted	that,	from	the	photos,	the	ex-rebel	looked	"presentable,"	as	women	of her	generation	used	to	say.	"Does	he	represent	any	sort	of	risk?"

Ellen	shrugged.	"He's	a	long	way	from	his	home	system	and	says	his rebelling	days	are	done.	He's	got	an	offer	to	train	as	a	spaceship	engineer	–	he's already	done	the	basic	degree	–	and	wants	to	take	it."

The	proconsul	raised	an	eyebrow.	"Really!	We	could	certainly	use	people like	him	to	maintain	the	skills	of	the	spaceship	servicing	people.	I	was	told	we

need	sex	workers	and	engineers	to	service	the	passing	trade.	I	don't	think	our court	system	needs	to	be	too	harsh	with	him,	but	I	will	want	to	speak	with	him."

"A	directive	from	you	would	make	legal	problems	a	lot	easier,	ma'am."

"Yes,	it	would,"	said	the	Proconsul,	again	looking	curiously	at	Ellen.	"There would	be	good	money	in	serving	the	spaceship	trade,	I	imagine,	whether	he's	an engineer	or	a	sex	worker	if	he	can	get	out	of	the	city."

All	Alf	could	think	of	was	to	keep	his	group	moving.	They	trotted	along	the corridor,	Sill	staying	close	to	Elsbeth,	their	progress	made	easier	by	the occasional	light	–	Alf	initially	thought	it	must	be	the	emergency	lighting	system, but	he	could	not	see	any	other	lighting	panels.	Then	he	thought	they	were probably	in	a	little-used	access	corridor	that	was	not	worth	lighting	properly.

They	switched	off	their	helmet	lamps	and	kept	going.	At	the	end	of	the	corridor was	a	door	without	any	security	locks.	Alf	pushed	the	door	ajar	to	peak	out,	then hurriedly	drew	back.

"Another	three	'droid	team	bearing	down	on	our	left,"	he	said.	"Dunno	if they're	aiming	for	this	door,	but	it's	a	fair	bet	they	are."

"What	do	we	do?"	said	Brian.

"In	these	close	quarters,	even	assault	rifles	can	be	difficult	to	use.	Pistols	are better,	or	small	automatics.	When	the	door	opens,	we	rush.	Go	in	low	and	hard and	pin	them.	You	two	take	on	one	droid.	They're	not	very	strong.	Don't	give them	a	chance	to	use	their	weapons.	Just	pin	them	and	wait	for	me.	Got	it,	team."

"Got	it,"	they	said,	although	without	much	enthusiasm.

"And	be	wary,	there's	a	railing	with	what	seems	to	be	a	big	drop	on	the	other side."

Then	the	door	opened.	They	rushed.	One	droid	managed	to	fire,	but	its bullets	went	into	the	wall	to	ricochet	over	their	heads.	Alf	kicked	that	one	so	that it	sailed	over	the	railings.	It	vanished	from	sight,	still	firing.	At	the	same	time,	he grappled	with	the	second	droid,	trying	to	get	it	to	drop	its	weapon.	Bracing	the creature	against	the	railing,	he	dislocated	its	shoulder,	much	as	he	had	dislocated Sill's,	ripped	off	two	of	the	tendons,	then	ripped	off	the	arm	holding	the	rifle before	throwing	the	creature	over	the	railing.	That	left	the	third	droid,	which Brian	and	Elsbeth	had	successfully	pinned	to	the	ground.	That	droid	also	refused to	let	go	of	its	assault	rifle.	Rather	than	rip	off	the	arm,	however,	Alf	took	the magazine	out	of	the	rifle,	having	worked	out	how	to	release	it,	took	the	creature's spare	magazine,	and	then	slung	it	bodily	over	the	railing.

After	that	droid	dropped	from	sight,	Alf	risked	peeking	over	the	railing.	He could	not	see	the	droids	or	even	the	bottom	of	the	chamber	they	were	in,	but	he could	see	a	light	in	the	distance,	which	must	be	on	the	chamber	wall,	and	off	to the	right,	he	could	hear	what	might	have	been	a	waterfall.





Sill	said	something	and	pointed	at	a	word	in	the	dictionary.	"Gardens	seems the	best	match,"	said	Elsbeth	after	a	moment.

"Gardens	down	here?"	said	Brian.

Sill	pointed	at	more	words.	"Mushrooms	–	colorful,	maybe,"	said	Elsbeth.

"Okay,	colorful	mushrooms,	good	to	know,"	said	Alf,	but	we're	way	too exposed	here.	We	have	to	move	somewhere."

"Do	you	feel	that?"	said	Brian,	unexpectedly.

"Feel	what?"	said	Alf.

"A	breeze.	It's	very	slight,	but	the	air	is	moving,	and	oxygen	levels	are	going up."

Alf	checked	his	gauge.	So	they	were.

"There	was	only	the	one	entrance	open	before,"	said	Brian,	through	the speaker	on	his	mask,	"but	a	city	this	size	must	have	heaps	of	ventilation	shafts, and	the	AI	would	have	some	means	of	opening	them	as	part	of	waking	the	place up."

"Shafts	humans	might	be	able	to	escape	through,"	said	Alf.	"Let's	go	and	find one	of	these	shafts."

CHAPTER	EIGHTEEN

Her	Excellency	Sara	Whychute	had	examined	Ellen's	case	file	from	beginning	to end,	had	pronounced	herself	satisfied,	and	called	in	her	principal	assistant	–	a middle-aged	man	called	Kensa	who	was	devoted	to	the	pro-consul.

"Summon	the	police	commissioner	and	Major	Darius	to	this	office	as	a matter	of	urgency,"	she	said.	"I	don't	care	what	they're	doing;	they	are	to	come here	at	once."

The	assistant	'Yes,	ma'amed,'	and	left.

"I'll	get	Major	Darius's	auxiliaries	to	take	over	the	exit	we	know	about.	Time they	did	something	in	any	case.	All	they've	done	since	I've	been	here	is	get	into fights	in	the	Marshland	red	light	area."

"Which	my	station	has	to	sort	out,	ma'am,"	said	Ellen.

Her	excellency	grunted.	"You	don't	have	to	be	here,	though.	In	fact,	I'd	prefer it	if	you	weren't,	as	I'd	have	to	explain	what's	going	to	happen	with	you,	and	I'm a	firm	believer	in	one	difficult	conversation	at	a	time.	I'll	draft	a	statement	saying that	my	office	is	aware	of	the	discovery	of	structures	of	an	unknown	origin	in	the desert	to	the	North	of	the	capital	city	and	has	sent	a	detachment	of	auxiliaries	to guard	the	site	pending	further	investigation.	As	for	you,	lie	low	for	a	couple	of days	–	a	hotel,	perhaps."

"Wouldn't	mean	much	in	Creaghville,	ma'am.	All	accommodation	sites	are required	to	report	their	guests,	and	I'd	be	more	vulnerable	in	a	hotel	room	than	I would	be	at	home,	where	I	have	a	decent	security	system.	I'll	go	there."

"My	assistant	will	give	you	numbers	to	call	if	any	of	your	colleagues	try	to arrest	you	or	anything	like	that,"	said	Whychute,	"and	we'll	set	up	an	Imperial protection	order	on	you,	now	that	I	think	of	it.	Off	you	go,	compile	lists	and plans	of	attack.	We'll	talk	later."

"Yes,	ma'am."

The	fugitives	in	the	city	ducked	into	another	corridor	to	find	out	what	Sill knew	about	the	ventilation	shafts,	which	was	not	much.	His	mind	held	a comprehensive	map	of	the	city,	but	the	map	was	light	on	details	of	the	city's engineering.	Sill	had	not	needed	such	information	for	his	role	as	a	butler	and carer.	Then	Brian	suggested	that	they	simply	set	their	faces	to	the	breeze	and keep	their	eyes	on	the	oxygen	levels,	which	was	not	only	a	reasonable	idea,	it was	the	only	plan	they	had.	It	meant	going	out	onto	the	walkway	overlooking	the mushroom	park	again,	but	there	did	not	seem	to	be	any	other	pursuit.	They

trotted	past	lights	that	started	blinking	and	doors	with	keylocks	that	started glowing	until	they	abruptly	ran	out	of	the	walkway.

They	backtracked	to	an	access	corridor	without	doors,	which	took	them	to	a room	with	wrap-around	windows,	couches,	and	tables.	Probably	designed	for leisurely	observation	of	the	mushroom	gardens	in	the	darkness	below,	Alf thought.	They	took	another	open	corridor,	which	seemed	to	have	a	breeze.	This ended	in	a	broad	walkway	with	a	desk	to	one	side	that	past	generations	might have	categorised	as	an	airport	gate	lounge	desk	and	portraits	on	the	wall	instead of	the	statues	which	the	builders	seemed	to	like	so	much.	Alf	glanced	into	the walkway	and	then	hurriedly	drew	back.

"Two	more	droids	off	to	the	right,	moving	quietly,"	he	whispered	to	the others.	"Move	well	back.	If	they	come	this	way,	I'll	ambush	them.	Come	up	if things	go	badly	for	me."

The	other	three	duly	moved	back	while	Alf	crouched	behind	the	desk.	The two	shapes	hesitated	when	they	came	to	the	corridor	entrance	–	the	thought crossed	Alf's	mind	that	droids	would	not	hesitate	–	then	turned	to	pass	by	Alf's position.	He	charged.

In	the	split	second	between	emerging	from	the	desk	and	contact	Alf	realised who	the	newcomers	were,	and	he	remembered	where	he	had	seen	the	older	man before.	He	knocked	the	one	nearest	him	into	the	corridor	wall,	saying,	"Guys, cover	that	one,"	but	slammed	the	second	one	into	the	wall,	face	up,	pistol	under the	newcomer's	chin.	He	had	seen	the	man's	grim,	drawn	face	in	the	upper chambers.

"Now	I	remember	where	I've	seen	you,	Dr	Percival,	you	piece	of	shit."

"How	do	you	know	...	my	name?"	gurgled	the	doctor.

"I	was	on	the	wrong	side	on	Martus	Prime	like	you,	doc.	I	remember	you from	the	clinic.	Percival	looked	down,	saw	that	his	feet	were	not	touching	the ground,	and	gurgled,	"You've	been	altered."

"I	lost	good	friends	in	that	program	of	yours,	doc,	and	now	I'm	about	to repay	the	favour."

"Not	my	...	program,"	said	the	doctor.

"Save	your	excuses	for	the	other	side,	doc."

Alf	was	within	an	ace	of	pulling	the	trigger	and	sending	Dr	Percival	off	to account	for	himself	when	someone	tugged	on	his	arm.	He	turned	his	head	to	see Elsbeth	looking	sorrowfully	at	him.	Beyond	her,	Brian	was	holding	a	gun	on Hutch,	who	was	on	the	ground	holding	his	head,	and	Sill,	both	looking	at	him open-mouthed.

"You're	scaring	us,"	she	said.

Alf	thought	for	a	moment,	then	stepped	away,	letting	Percival	crash	to	the ground,	massaging	that	part	of	the	underside	of	his	jaw	that	his	breathing	mask let	him	reach.

"In	consideration	for	the	feelings	of	my	colleagues,	Dr	Percival,"	said	Alf,

"I'm	going	to	let	you	live	–	for	a	time.	Just	don't	draw	attention	to	yourself	or wander	away,	especially	if	it	means	I	can	catch	you	out	of	sight	of	my colleagues."	Still	rubbing	his	jaw,	Percival	opted	to	remain	quiet.	"Hutch,	you up?"

"Yeah,	guess,"	said	Hutch	groggily	from	the	floor,	adjusting	his	mask.	"No thanks	to	you."

"Just	be	real	grateful	I	want	information.	We	saw	you	guys	in	the	upper chambers.	What	happened	to	the	other	one	with	you	–	Bar,	wasn't	it?"

"Those	droid	things	got	him	two	levels	up	and	closer	to	the	entrance."

"How	about	the	other	guys	at	the	entrance?"

"We	heard	gunfire,	but	there	was	no	way	we	were	getting	through."

"Huh!	So	how	come	you	wound	up	here?"

"Dodging	the	droids,	and	where	is	here?"

"We're	not	too	sure	ourselves.	We	have	a	guide."	Alf	gestured	at	Sill.	"But he's	not	much	help	on	the	engineering	side."

"Where	the	fuck	did	that	come	from,"	said	Hutch,	picking	himself	up	from the	floor	and	looking	at	Sill	opened	eyed.	He	had	not	previously	noticed	the droid	in	the	gloom.	Percival,	still	holding	his	jaw,	also	glared	at	Sill.

"That's	Sill.	He's	some	sort	of	servitor	droid	who	got	left	behind	by	accident when	the	creatures	who	built	this	place	–	we	call	them	'The	Engineers'	–

evacuated	more	than	two	centuries	ago."

"Two	centuries!"	exclaimed	Percival.

"More	than	two	hundred	and	forty,	doc,	as	near	as	we	can	tell,	and	you haven't	been	given	permission	to	speak.	Shut	up,	or	we'll	leave	you	somewhere the	nasty	droids	can	find	you."

"Is	he	violent	–	I	mean,	like	the	other	droids?"	asked	Hutch.	"Do	we	have	to worry	about	him?"

"No	problem	at	all	so	far,	and	you	are	to	leave	him	alone.	If	you	want	to mess	with	Sill,	you'll	have	to	go	through	Elsbeth."

"Damn	straight,"	said	Elsbeth,	folding	her	arms.	"And	I	heard	your	boy	chat about	me	in	the	upper	chamber.	You	wanted	to	do	the	girl	before	offing	her."

Sill	looked	from	one	human	to	another,	wondering	what	was	going	on.

Hutch,	taken	aback,	searched	his	memory.

"Oh	right,	that	was	Bar.	He	was	like	that."

"Total	animal,"	said	Alf.	"No	great	loss	to	humanity."	He	picked	up	a shoulder	bag	that	Hutch	had	been	carrying	and	dropped	during	the	attack.	"What have	we	here."	He	rummaged	through	the	bag.	"Grenades?"	He	pulled	out	one and	held	it	up	for	the	others	to	see.	"You've	got	four	in	here,	and	they're	Imperial issue.	I	see	you’ve	also	got	a	rifle,	but	like	the	other	weapons,	you	guys	have been	waving	around	topside,	it's	commercially	available	or	easily	found	on	the black	market,	but	not	these	things.	The	only	place	they	could	have	come	from around	here	is	the	auxiliary	arsenal.	What	in	all	the	galaxy	were	you	guys planning?"

Hutch	shrugged.	"We	were	just	told	to	escort	Dr	Percival	down	to	push	that button."

"The	one	that	kicked	off	the	power	systems	and	started	the	mess	we're	in?"

"Well,	yeah.	It	worked	like	you	said	it	would.	We	told	Dr	Percival	you thought	the	security	droids	might	wake	up,	but	he	didn't	think	it	likely."

"Didn't	seem	credible,"	said	Percival.

Alf	closed	the	distance	with	Percival	in	one	stride,	picked	him	up,	one handed,	by	the	collar,	and	slammed	him	against	the	wall	again.

"It's	not	the	first	time	you've	been	completely	wrong,	is	it,	doc?	I	read	the advice	you	gave	the	rebellion	leaders	on	Martus	Prime	about	genetic	altering.

You	said	the	risks	were	acceptable.	But	three	quarters	of	those	in	the	program died.	Three	quarters,	doc?	Was	that	acceptable?"

"I	was	just	advising	on	known	risks,"	gurgled	the	doctor,	conscious	that	one of	his	creations	was	glaring	at	him	through	a	rebreather	face	mask.	He	tried struggling,	but	he	might	as	well	have	wrestled	with	a	cargo	loader.	"There	were factors	we	didn't	know	about."

Sill	got	behind	Elsbeth.	Hutch	looked	on,	interested.	If	the	good	doctor	met	a sad	fate	that	was	no	loss	to	him,	but	he	was	intrigued	that	the	man	he	knew	as Alf	had	been	altered.	He	thought	that	explained	a	lot.

"You	were	told	the	security	droids	might	wake	up,	doc,"	said	Alf.	"But	you still	went	ahead	and	pushed	that	button."

"I	was	told	to	do	it...	who	knew	they'd	wake	up	so	quickly...	thought	it	might take	hours,	even	days."

"But	why	the	fuck's	sake	did	you	want	to	wake	the	city?	Why	not	leave	it	be for	the	archaeologists?"

"Weapons	and	ships,	I	was	told	–	need	city	to	start	ship	reactors."

"You	would.	You	need	a	humongous	load	of	power	to	start	a	fusion	reactor.

Okay,	so	why	did	Mr	Charles	tell	you	he	needed	ships	that	have	been	standing	in their	hangers	for	more	than	two	centuries?	How	did	he	know	they'd	even	work?"

"Not	him."





"Not	Charles?	Then	who?"

"The	one	he	reports	to	–	Mr	Acheron."

Alf	abruptly	dropped	Percival,	who	pushed	himself	back	against	the	wall	in	a vain	attempt	to	put	more	distance	between	himself	and	the	altered	human.	Alf crouched	down	in	front	of	him.

"Describe	this,	Mr	Acheron."

"I	never	met	him,"	gasped	Percival.	"Just	get	instructions	over	the	phone through	intermediaries,	including	Charles."

"Did	anyone	else	escape	the	rebellion	with	you?"

"One	of	the	other	altered	individuals	came	with	me.	I	don't	know	of	anyone else."

"Which	altered	individual?"

"I	knew	him	as	Benji."

"Oh	great,	Benji	–	just	what	I	don't	need."

"Who	is	this	Benji?"	asked	Hutch.

"Same	deal	as	me	–	altered	–	but	he's	bigger	and	a	whole	lot	nastier.	He	had	a bad	habit	of	executing	Imperial	prisoners	by	crushing	their	skulls.	Doc,	I	thought I'd	left	the	rebellion	far	behind	me.	How	come	Creaghville	has	become	a	rallying point	for	rebel	slime?	Why	couldn't	they	make	a	nuisance	of	themselves somewhere	else?"

"I	was	just	told	to	come	here	-	there	was	alien	technology	that	could	prove useful."

"Guns	and	star	ships	–	rebuild	strength,	maybe.	Well,	we've	taken	our inquiries	about	as	far	as	they	can	go	at	this	point,	especially	with	the	city	security system	getting	stronger	by	the	minute.	Brian,	give	Hutch	his	rifle	back.	Hutch, you	cause	problems,	and	I'll	drop	you	in	a	heartbeat.	Once	we're	out	of	the	city, we	go	our	own	ways,	more	or	less."

"Gotit,"	said	Hutch.

"Doc,	the	same	warning	applies.	If	I	find	you	by	yourself,	then	there	are	lots of	places	to	lose	a	body	around	here."

Percival	stood	up	to	stand	behind	Sill,	who	was	standing	behind	Elsbeth.

"Let's	roll	people,"	said	Alf.

"How	are	we	getting	out	of	here?"	asked	Hutch.

"That's	a	good	question,"	said	Alf.	"I	wish	I	knew	the	answer.

CHAPTER	NINETEEN

After	checking	the	whisper	of	an	airflow,	Alf's	group,	now	expanded	to	five humans	and	one	android,	turned	right	at	the	corridor	intersection	with	Hutch, complaining	that	they	had	just	come	that	way.

"You're	welcome	to	try	going	back	the	way	we	just	came,"	said	Alf,	jerking his	thumb	over	his	shoulder.	"But	we	didn't	see	any	way	out."

After	a	few	minutes,	they	came	to	a	side	door	without	any	security	lock, opened	it,	and	decided	that	the	breeze	was	a	little	stronger	in	that	side	passage.

Alf	noted	that	the	areas	they	passed	through	had	no	security	cameras	he	could see,	and	even	the	security	alert	now	sounded	faint,	as	if	there	were	no functioning	loudspeakers	in	the	area.	Then	they	came	to	a	door	with	a	security lock,	and	several	words	stenciled	on	the	door,	which	Alf	thought	they	should translate.	After	the	usual	messing	around	with	Sill,	the	book,	and	the	image reader,	the	sign	was	tentatively	translated	as	'Engineering	spaces.	Authorised personnel	only'.	Unusually,	the	door	also	had	a	vent	near	ground	level,	and	Alf thought	he	felt	a	distinct	breeze	coming	from	it.

"You	can	get	through	the	lock,"	said	Hutch.	"I've	seen	you	guys	do	it."

"Brian	and	I	have	got	it	down	to	an	art	now,"	said	Alf.	"But	we	have	to	break the	lock	to	do	it,	and	the	AI	now	running	this	city	is	going	to	work	out	we	must be	here	and	be	sore	with	us	for	messing	with	the	infrastructure.	What	other options	are	there?	Let's	walk	on	a	little	way	first."

They	walked	on,	passing	one	other	door	with	a	security	lock	but	without	any writing	stenciled	on	it	before	the	corridor	came	to	a	dead	end,	and	they	returned to	the	first	door.

"Can't	you	guys	hack	it?"	asked	Hutch.

"The	short	answer	is	no,"	said	Alf.	"The	long	answer	is	that	Brian	here	would need	a	few	years	to	study	the	city	AI's	operating	system	and	architecture	to	try	it; even	then	the	AI	may	be	too	smart."

"Advanced	systems	with	decent	security	are	impossible	to	hack,"	said	Brian.

"That	means	we	gotta	break	the	lock,"	said	Alf.	"Okay,	Brian,	grab	the	jump leads.	Hutch,	you	get	ready	to	kick	the	door	the	moment	you	hear	a	click."

Alf	dug	a	screwdriver	into	the	top	of	the	lock,	between	the	casing	and	door, and	ripped	it	off.	Somewhere,	a	horn	started	blaring.

"That's	done	it,"	he	muttered.	He	ripped	out	the	metal	circuitry	behind	the casing.	Brian	connected	two	leads;	the	door	clicked,	and	Hutch	kicked	it	open.

Beyond	was	a	platform	with	a	guard	rail	overlooking	a	large	space	filled	with

pipes.	Somewhere,	a	fan	was	turning	over	slowly,	with	a	muted	'whump, whump,	whump'	like	a	distant	helicopter	idling.	Alf	guessed	that	in	a	city without	any	population	as	yet,	the	ventilation	system	was	low	on	the	list	of power	priorities.	However,	the	fan	had	to	be	drawing	air	from	somewhere.

"Look	at	the	gauges,"	said	Brian.	"We're	almost	normal	now.	No	need	for masks."

"Good	to	know,"	said	Alf	as	they	all	took	their	masks	off,	letting	them	dangle around	their	necks.	The	horn	was	still	blaring.	"Guys,	let's	take	the	stairs	over there	and	see	if	we	can't	track	down	the	air	source.	Hutch,	see	if	you	can	find something	heavy	to	put	against	the	door	to	stop	our	droid	friends	from	joining us,	then	catch	up."

"Gotit,"	said	Hutch.

Alf's	group	got	down	to	the	floor	and	followed	the	sound	of	the	blades turning	over,	quickly	losing	sight	of	the	platform	they	had	been	on	in	the	maze	of pipes.	Hutch	rejoined	them,	shouting	to	find	out	where	they	were	in	the	maze.

"I	managed	to	find	a	heavy	crate	for	the	door,"	he	told	Alf,	"But	there's	a second	door	further	along	the	platform	and	just	nothing	to	block	it."

"Can't	be	helped,"	said	Alf,	"The	Engineers	didn't	leave	much	stuff	lying around."

They	stopped	in	front	of	a	pipe	big	enough	to	fit	a	good-sized	helicopter	of the	type	used	on	distant	earth.	The	pipe	also	had	a	handy	inspection	hatch.

"Well,	it's	big	enough,"	said	Alf,	who	flipped	open	the	hatch	and	put	his	head in	to	find	a	set	of	blades,	a	very	large	version	of	a	ceiling	fan,	just	above	human head	height,	being	turned	by	a	central	shaft.	He	got	right	into	the	pipe	with	Brian to	inspect	a	ladder	recessed	into	the	pipe	wall.	It	seemed	to	go	right	up	the	shaft, but	any	human	using	the	ladder	would	be	cut	in	two	by	the	blades.	He	looked hard	at	the	connection	between	the	blades	and	the	shaft	by	the	flashlight	and thought	for	a	moment.	"Looks	like	we've	found	a	use	for	one	of	those	grenades,"

he	told	Brian.	"Make	it	two."

When	he	re-emerged,	Alf	could	hear	distant	pounding.

"Think	the	droids	are	at	the	door,"	said	Hutch.

"There	seems	to	be	a	way	up.	The	door	just	has	to	hold	a	few	more	minutes."

Alf	took	two	grenades	and	the	roll	of	tape	from	Hutch's	shoulder	bag.

"Here's	my	knife,"	he	told	Brian.	"I'll	stop	the	blades	as	best	I	can	with	the butt	of	my	rifle.	You	tap	these	grenades	around	the	central	shaft	making	sure	the pins	–	that's	those	rings	there	–	are	close	together	and	taped	so	they	can	be	pulled out	together.	Then,	extend	the	tape	in	a	trail	to	the	hatch	where	I'll	be.	You	get out	and	pull	the	tape.	I'll	be	right	behind	you."

"With	two	grenades	going	off?"

"There's	a	three	second	delay	on	those	things,	as	I	found	out	the	hard	way.

Should	be	just	enough	time	for	me	to	get	out	if	you're	not	in	the	way."

"If	you	say	so,"	said	Brian.

Alf	smashed	his	rifle	butt	against	a	blade	and	then	held	it,	straining	against the	machinery's	massive	torque,	as	Brian	taped	the	grenades.

"Better	hurry,"	said	Alf,	gasping.

"Almost	there."

Brian	let	out	a	tape	trail,	pinching	the	tape	in	half	so	it	would	not	stick	where it	wasn't	supposed	to,	then	stood	by	the	door.

"Get	out,	pull	the	tape,"	gasped	Alf,	"then	slam	and	latch	the	door	behind me."

Brian	got	out	and	declared,	"Pulling	now".

Alf	dived	through	the	hatch,	dropping	his	rifle	inside	the	cylinder,	and	Brian latched	the	hatch	shut	a	split	second	before	the	grenades	went	off	with	a	'whump'

that	almost	broke	the	hatch.

While	Alf	and	Brian	had	been	blowing	up	the	air	duct	system,	the	droids	had also	been	busy.	When	Alf	got	up,	ears	ringing,	he	was	amazed	to	see	Elsbeth kneeling	behind	a	pipe,	taking	aimed	shots	with	her	rifle	at	some	distant	target	as if	she	had	been	doing	it	all	her	life.	Sill	was	cowering	behind	her.

"Droids	got	through,"	said	Hutch	from	behind	another	pipe.	"Just	three	so far,	we	think.	Good	to	leave	soon."

"Another	minute."

Alf	opened	the	hatch	to	find	the	three	rotors	still	whirling	around	but	badly bent	out	of	shape.	He	crawled	in,	retrieved	his	rifle	then	used	the	butt	to	smash the	rotors	as	they	passed.	One	broke	off	entirely	and	the	other	two	further	bent out	of	shape,	leaving	plenty	of	room	for	humans	to	crawl	up	the	access	pipe ladder.

"Time	to	go,	guys,"	said	Alf	poking	his	head	out	again.	"Brian,	you're	first.

Start	climbing	fast.	See	what's	above	us.	Elsbeth,	stop	firing	at	the	droids	and	get in	the	pipe	with	Sill.	See	if	he'll	follow	you	up.	Doc,	you're	next.	Hold	us	up,	and I'll	happily	kick	you	off	the	ladder.	Hutch,	you	and	I	are	rear	guard.	Brian	slung his	rifle	over	his	shoulder	and	started	climbing,	quickly	disappearing	into	the darkness.	Elspeth	stepped	into	the	pipe,	leading	Sill	by	the	hand,	crouching down	to	avoid	the	mangled	blades.	She	got	onto	the	ladder	and,	after	a	moment's hesitation,	Sill	followed.	Percival	crept	in,	not	looking	at	Alf,	and	started climbing,	soon	disappearing	into	the	darkness.	Then	came	Hutch,	who	helped Alf	tape	the	hatch	closed	from	the	inside.	The	masking	tape	would	not	hold	the droids	for	long	once	they	figured	out	what	was	holding	the	hatch	shut,	but	they hoped	it	would	baffle	their	artificial	minds.	Why	wouldn't	the	hatch	just	open?

To	make	matters	more	interesting,	Alf	and	Hutch	rigged	one	of	the	grenades with	masking	tape	so	that	opening	the	hatch	pulled	its	pin,	and	the	explosive device	would	drop	outside	the	pipe.

Leaving	Hutch	to	balance	the	grenade	on	the	lip	of	the	hatch,	Alf	stepped onto	the	ladder,	hoping	to	catch	up	to	Percival	and	find	an	excuse	to	throw	him off.	After	a	couple	of	minutes	climbing,	the	blackness	enveloped	him,	but	then his	eyes	adjusted	to	pick	up	the	faint	glows	of	the	atmospheric	gauges	carried	by his	comrades	above	him.	He	checked	his	own.	Plenty	of	oxygen,	hopefully	from the	surface.	Alf	switched	off	his	gauge,	then	became	aware,	in	the	darkness above	him,	of	a	faint	'Whump!	Whump!	Whump!'	Another	set	of	blades?	He kept	climbing.

Back	at	the	Creaghville	suburb	of	Marshland,	Ellen	made	the	driver	of	the Proconsul's	car	stop	at	the	corner	of	her	street	so	she	could	check	out	the	area.

All	seemed	quiet.	The	few	cars	she	could	see	in	the	street	looked	familiar.	Then she	made	the	man	wait	while	she	checked	out	her	house	and	tiny	backyard,	gun in	hand.	Nothing.	A	few	minutes	after	she	had	told	the	driver	to	go	and	locked the	door,	her	personal	assistant	cheeped.	It	was	Inspector	Barastoc	in	a	bad mood.

"You	have	to	come	in!"	he	said	without	preamble.

"So,	you	can	pull	a	gun	on	me	again?	No	way.	You	might	see	that	there	is	an Imperial	Protection	order	on	me."

"I	can	see	that.	What	did	you	tell	the	Proconsul?"

"That's	for	Her	Excellency	to	reveal.	In	the	meantime,	I'm	sticking	here."

"At	home,	I	see.	I'm	still	your	superior	officer,	and	I	order	you	to	return	to the	station."

"Seriously?	After	sticking	a	gun	in	my	face?	You	can	always	try	that	one with	the	police	disciplinary	board.	What	do	you	think	would	get	them	more excited:	a	sergeant	who	disobeys	an	order	or	an	inspector	who	points	his	service pistol	at	subordinates?"

"We	can	go	there	and	take	you."

"Really?	I	still	have	my	gun	and	plenty	of	ammunition.	Are	you	going	to ignore	the	protection	order,	shoot	it	out	with	me,	and	later	claim	I	was dangerous?	Too	many	people	know	the	truth	now.	Time	to	think	of	your defence."

Barastoc's	voice	rose	a	few	decibels.	"I	don't	need	your	advice."

"Just	pointing	out	the	obvious,	inspector.	Leave	it	with	you	and	take	care."

Ellen	hung	up,	then	thought	to	check	for	messages	from	the	party	in	the	Alien city.	Nothing	since	the	message	Alf	had	sent	just	before	they	went	in.	Ellen	was worried.

After	what	seemed	an	age	of	climbing,	with	the	sound	of	blades	getting louder	above	him,	Alf	came	to	a	small	platform	where	his	party	had	gathered.	He stayed	on	the	ladder	as	there	was	no	room	on	the	platform,	the	main	and	only feature	of	which	was	a	hatch	on	which	something	was	pounding.

"Blades	above	us,"	said	Brian	before	Alf	could	ask	why	they'd	stopped.

"Looked	out	the	hatch	just	in	time	to	see	a	heap	of	droids	coming	along	the gantry	outside.	This	hatch	can	be	locked	on	this	side.	They	don't	seem	too happy."

"Did	you	get	a	chance	to	see	how	far	there	is	to	go?"

"Sorry,	Alf.	I	had	no	time	for	sightseeing.	But	we	must	be	well	above	the camp	we	were	sleeping	in."

Alf	thought	that	was	right	and	that	Brian	was	proving	to	be	just	as	cool	in	a crisis	as	Elsbeth.	One	less	thing	for	him	to	worry	about.

"Give	us	the	spare	rifle,"	he	said	to	Brian,	"and	take	the	tape	from	Hutch when	he	comes	up.	See	if	you	can	tape	up	the	hatch	to	delay	our	Android friends.'

Just	as	Alf	took	the	spare	weapon,	Hutch	came	into	view,	and	an	explosion echoed	through	the	pipe,	making	Elsbeth	and	Brian	slap	their	hands	over	their ears.	The	droids	at	the	base	of	the	pipe	had	triggered	the	grenade	trap.

"Didn't	delay	them	as	long	as	we	hoped,"	said	Hutch.

"We	gotta	keep	moving,"	said	Alf.	"Hutch,	follow	me	up,	and	I'll	see	what	I can	do	about	the	blades	above	us.	The	rest	of	you	follow	fast.	Brian,	you're	last.

Be	quick	about	the	taping	job."

A	few	metres	up,	Alf	found	another	set	of	three	blades	like	the	ones	at	the base	of	the	shaft	but	not	whirling	as	fast,	as	near	as	he	could	tell.	He	got	as closed	as	he	dared,	then	jammed	the	butt	of	the	spare	assault	rifle	against	a blade,	bracing	the	barrel	against	the	side	of	the	ladder	well,	where	a	strut	kept the	ladder	in	place.	As	the	gun	was	braced	against	the	ladder	well,	Alf	did	not have	to	spend	much	strength	fighting	the	blades,	but	he	had	to	lay	his	body across	the	weapon	to	keep	it	in	place	while	shuffling	to	one	side	so	that	the others	could	squeeze	past.

"Hutch,	get	by	me.	Guys,	fast!	You'll	have	to	squeeze	by	me."

Alf	had	to	leave	his	helmet	light	on	so	the	others	could	see	enough	to squeeze	past.	Percival	crept	by	without	looking	at	Alf.	Elsbeth	paused	for	a moment	to	ask	if	Alf	would	be	able	to	follow	only	to	be	told	to	keep	moving, and	Sill	stopped,	unsure	of	what	he	was	to	do.	Alf	hauled	Sill	up	by	one	arm, with	Brian	pushing,	his	head	on	the	creature's	behind,	until	the	android	got	the idea	and	kept	moving.

Then	Alf	had	to	extricate	himself	from	the	fan	without	being	cut	by	the blades.	He	wiggled	up	so	that	his	legs	held	the	rifle	in	place,	then	his	feet.	Then he	pulled	his	legs	up,	letting	the	weapon	fall	away.	The	blades	started	circling again.	He	switched	off	his	helmet	light	and	kept	climbing.	The	next	time	he looked	down,	he	saw	a	glimmer	of	light	about	where	the	platform	had	been.	The security	droids	had	managed	to	open	the	hatch.	Well,	the	blades	were	now between	him	and	them.

After	a	few	more	minutes	of	climbing,	he	was	at	the	top	–	a	circular	platform with	a	guard	rail	and	a	single	door,	but	the	others	were	just	standing	around.

"Air	vents,"	said	Brian,	pointing	up,	"but	we	can't	see	a	way	out."

"You	said	not	to	turn	on	lights,"	said	Hutch.

"We	might	have	to.	What's	through	that	door?"

"An	engine	room	–	the	engine	turning	the	shaft,	I	guess,"	said	Elsbeth.	"I couldn't	see	any	way	out."

"Okay,	but	the	air	must	be	coming	from	somewhere.	Guys,	where	are	you feeling	the	best	breeze?"

"Here,"	said	Elsbeth	after	a	few	moments.

"Hutch,	get	ready	to	return	fire."

Alf	flashed	his	helmet	light	on	for	a	split	second	to	see	a	large	air	vent	above him	just	as	the	shaft	stopped	turning.	He	dragged	Elsbeth	away	a	moment	before a	shot	from	below	ripped	through	the	space	where	she	had	been.	Good	shooting.

Hutch	returned	fire,	the	sound	echoing	through	the	pipe.

"Got	him!"	said	Hutch.

"Hutch,	move!"	said	Alf.	"Never	fire	and	stay	put.	Change	position."

"So,	what	do	we	do	now?"	asked	Elsbeth	as	she	crouched	on	the	walkway.

Alf	rummaged	in	his	backpack	to	bring	out	the	small	hiker's	spade	he	had taken	from	the	equipment	bin	at	the	base	camp.

"I'll	knock	out	the	grill	–	I	hope	it's	not	fastened	in	some	way	–	then	I'll	hand you	the	spade	and	boost	you	into	the	hole.	I	couldn't	see	anything,	but	the	air	has to	be	coming	from	somewhere.	Look	for	daylight."

"Okay,	I	guess...."

Alf	moved	back	under	the	vent,	then	pushed	it	with	the	spade.	It	wasn't fastened.	He	shoved	it	so	that	the	grill	turned	and	fell	into	his	hands.	He	threw	it over	the	side,	hoping	it	might	hit	a	droid.	Then	he	grabbed	Elsbeth	and	boosted her	into	the	opening.	Her	jeans	and	sneakers	were	visible	for	a	few	seconds,	then vanished.	He	took	up	his	weapon	and	fired,	more	to	keep	the	droids'	heads	down than	with	any	hope	of	hitting	one.

"Hutch,	Brian,	just	a	shot	now	and	then	when	you	think	you	have	a	good chance	of	a	hit."

"I	can	see	a	way	out,"	said	Elsbeth,	who	returned	to	the	vent	opening.	"But it's	covered	by	a	grill,	and	I	can't	move	it."

"I'll	come	up,"	said	Alf.

As	he	lifted	himself	through,	he	saw	that	Sill	was	standing	on	the	walkway, looking	up	at	the	hatch,	obviously	wondering	where	Elsbeth	had	got	to.	He extended	his	arm,	and	the	creature	grabbed	it,	allowing	himself	to	be	lifted	into the	vent,	which	was	not	a	vent.	The	area	was,	in	fact,	surprisingly	roomy,	being more	like	the	roof	space	of	a	suburban	home,	albeit	a	circular	one.	A	few	paces from	the	opening,	Elsbeth,	her	helmet	light	on	but	turned	down,	knelt	by	a	large, screen-covered	hatch.	Quite	a	breeze	was	blowing	through	it.

Gunfire	echoed	through	the	shaft.

"We	need	to	move,"	Hutch	yelled.	"They're	coming	in	force."

"Elsbeth,	tell	Hutch	to	hold	on	and	see	if	you	can	help	Brian	through.	He should	be	able	to	jump.	Then	get	Hutch	through.	If	Percival	wants	to	tag	along, it's	up	to	him."

The	screen	proved	to	be	held	in	place	by	rivets	which,	like	everything	else	in the	city,	had	been	built	to	last.	Alf	worked	the	camp	spade	underneath	the	screen and	heaved,	causing	the	rivets	to	give	a	little	but	otherwise	hold	firm.

"Brian,	you	there?	We	need	that	electrical	screwdriver	of	yours."

The	computer	expert	was	there	in	a	moment,	inserting	the	tip	of	his screwdriver	under	the	rivet	on	the	other	side,	also	making	some	ground	but	not nearly	enough.	Alf	was	aware	of	Hutch,	now	up	in	the	circular	space,	firing through	the	vent,	along	with	Elsbeth.	Sill	was	looking	on	in	what	might	be alarm.

"Brian,	give	me	the	screwdriver."

Alf	put	the	screwdriver	tip	under	the	rivet	head	and	heaved	with	all	his considerable	strength.	With	a	shriek	of	protest,	it	gave	way.	Alf	did	the	same with	several	more	rivets,	then	used	the	spade	to	lever	off	the	whole	frame,	finally pulling	it	off	and	throwing	it	to	one	side.

"I	can't	see	anything	down	there,"	said	Brian,	looking	into	the	opening, headlamp	on	full.	"I	can	see	the	shaft	we	came	up	in,	but	I'm	not	sure	where	the ground	is."

"Need	to	move,	people,"	said	Hutch.	He	and	Elsbeth	were	backing	away from	the	vent.

Then	Percival	had	the	bad	judgment	to	peer	over	the	edge	of	the	vent opening.	Alf	grabbed	him	around	the	torso,	pinning	his	arms,	and	threw	him	feet first	through	the	vent.	The	scientist	had	time	to	exclaim,	"Hey,	what?"	before vanishing	from	sight.	He	hit	the	ground	with	a	distinct	thud	and	an	"Ouch!"





"Okay,	I	can	see	him,"	said	Alf.	"It's	a	cone	with	steep	sides,	mostly	dirt.	The air	must	be	coming	in	near	the	top.

"Thanks	very	much!"	said	Percival	indignantly	from	far	below.

"Just	be	grateful	I	didn't	fling	you	in	headfirst,	doc,"	said	Alf.	"Now,	Brian,	I can	lower	you	down	some	of	the	way	and	swing	you	so	that	you	land	further	up the	cone.	Just	land	on	your	feet	and	roll.	Then,	get	up	and	find	an	exit.	If necessary,	expand	it	with	this."	He	handed	Brian	the	camp	shovel.

"Gotit,"	said	Brian.

The	computer	expert	landed	much	further	up	the	cone	than	Percival recovered	quickly	and	started	clambering	up	the	side.

"Elsbeth,	here.	You're	next,	and	Sill	will	go	if	you	go."

The	linguist	landed	more	heavily	than	Brian	but	still	recovered	well	to scramble	up	the	side	of	the	cone,	and	Sill	acted	as	if	he	had	been	thrown	into	pits all	his	life.	That	left	Hutch,	who	fired	a	full	burst	at	the	hatch	they	had	been defending,	then	grabbed	Alf's	arm	to	be	swung	through	the	hole	onto	the	side	of the	cone.	Alf	flung	the	last	grenade	at	the	entrance	hatch,	then	followed	the others	–	swinging,	one-handed,	on	the	side	of	the	hatch	before	letting	himself drop.

He	landed	poorly,	almost	twisting	an	ankle	and	falling	a	few	metres	down	the side	of	cone	before	getting	up	again	to	scramble	towards	his	comrades,	who were	right	up	against	the	edge	of	the	circular	structure	they	had	been	in,	where	it met	the	cone.	There,	Brian	was	using	the	spade	to	enlarge	a	hole.	Through	the hole,	they	could	see	the	night	sky!	In	a	few	moments,	they	had	all	wiggled through	–	Elspeth	pulling	Sill	–	and	were	out	in	the	open.

CHAPTER	TWENTY

The	one	most	affected	by	the	escape	was	Sill.	After	Alf	wiggled	out	of	the	hole enlarged	by	Brian,	he	found	the	android	looking	up	at	the	stars	that	glittered overhead,	repeating	the	same	word	as	if	in	a	trance	–	"Barto."

"What's	he	saying?"	Alf	asked	of	Elsbeth.

"I	think	he	means	'far',"	she	said.

"After	being	underground	for	the	better	part	of	two	and	a	half	centuries,	I guess	a	change	in	perspective	would	stun	the	poor	guy.	Probably	better	we	came out	at	night.	The	sun	might	have	fried	him.	You	got	that	sheet	to	throw	over	him we	talked	about?"

Elsbeth	nodded.

"Okay,	lead	him	by	the	hand	when	we	go,	and	we	gotta	go	now.	I	don't	think the	droids	will	follow	us	out	here,	but	no	sense	in	tempting	fate."

"Where	are	we?"	said	Brian.

They	were	close	to	the	summit	of	the	long,	large	hill	they	now	knew concealed	a	whole	city.	Alf	also	knew	that	the	camp	they	had	been	using	was elsewhere	on	the	hill,	but	he	was	momentarily	at	a	loss	about	just	where	that camp	might	be	until	he	spotted	two	moving	lights.

"There,	see	those	lights	in	the	distance?"	He	told	the	others,	pointing.	"That's an	automated	ore	truck	on	the	main	northern	road	–	the	only	road	around	here.

You	can	see	the	glow	from	the	lights	of	Creaghville	in	the	distance	that	way,	so the	camp	is	this	way.	We	might	be	able	to	grab	a	vehicle	there.	If	not,	the	main road	is	not	all	that	far."

They	moved	off,	Sill	still	occasionally	saying	"Barto"	to	Elsbeth	and pointing	to	the	sky.	Traveling	outside	the	city	was	a	lot	easier	than	traveling	in	it, and	they	relaxed	somewhat.	Elsbeth	produced	a	bar	of	chocolate	and	gave everyone	a	row	of	cubes.	Alf	handed	around	a	water	bottle.	The	access	road came	into	view,	and	then	the	camp	entrance,	which	seemed	very	quiet.

"No	one	in	the	guard	post	at	the	entrance,"	said	Hutch.

They	crept	closer.	Eventually,	Alf	told	the	others	to	wait	out	of	sight,	and	he and	Hutch	went	on	to	peep	around	the	side	of	the	camp	excavation.

"Two	bodies,"	whispered	Hutch.	"I	can't	see	any	droids."

"I	think	I	can	see	one	standing	on	the	ramp	on	that	pit	so	that	it	can	see	into the	camp."

Hutch	peered	into	the	gloom.	"You're	right,	but	it	hasn't	seen	us	yet."

"Just	as	well.	Let's	see	if	we	can	sneak	into	a	vehicle."

Keeping	their	heads	down	and	crawling,	they	got	to	the	sentry	box	on	the other	side	of	the	gate	undetected,	and	they	saw	more	of	the	aftermath	of	what must	have	been	the	battle	of	the	excavation.	A	panel	van,	engine	still	running, had	stopped	half	facing	them,	its	windshield	mostly	shot	away,	and	the	driver thrown	back	on	the	seat,	his	torso	a	mess.	Another	body	was	partially	concealed by	the	vehicle.	Both	men	had	been	gunned	down	while	trying	to	escape.

"How	many	more	of	your	guys?"	asked	Alf.

Hutch	thought	for	a	moment.	"Another	four	somewhere,	but	it's	not	looking good.	We	can	reach	the	other	van."

"I'll	do	that;	you	go	and	get	the	others.	When	I	see	them	by	the	road,	I'll start."

"You	don't	know	the	password."

"Yes,	I	do.	That's	the	van	you	used	to	take	Junot	to	the	hospital.	Remember	I stood	beside	you	while	you	entered	the	password	into	the	keypad?"

"Bastard."

"Just	planning	an	escape	from	a	place	where	thugs	wanted	to	shoot	me.	Get the	others."

Alf	waited	until	he	could	see	his	group	standing	by	the	side	of	the	access road	but	still	out	of	sight	of	the	droid	sentry	in	the	access	pit.	He	crept	up	to	the van,	opening	the	door	as	quietly	as	he	could,	thankful	the	cabin	light	did	not come	on.	The	first	thing	he	noticed	was	that	the	cabin	had	been	rifled.	The	door pockets	and	what	was	still	called	the	glove	box,	generations	after	the	original reason	for	the	name	had	been	forgotten,	emptied,	and	the	contents	scattered around	the	cabin.	Alf	didn't	think	the	droids	would	have	any	interest	in	searching the	van	but	then	thought	it	was	a	mystery	for	another	time	and	was	just	about	to start	the	vehicle	when	he	heard	a	noise	in	the	back	–	a	scrape	of	boot	on	the floor.

In	an	instant,	he	was	holding	his	gun,	the	pistol	he	had	taken	off	Chris	when they	left	the	camp.	There	was	nothing	between	the	two	front	seats	and	the	van's rear,	where	Alf	found	one	of	Hutch's	thugs	reaching	for	his	weapon.

"You!"	said	the	thug.

"Yep,"	said	Alf,	pointing	his	pistol	at	the	thug.	"Take	the	pistol	out,	slowly, and	push	it	over	here.	Any	others	like	you	in	the	camp?"

"Nah!	Just	me	left	alive	up	here."	He	was	an	ill-favoured	youth	with	lank hair,	a	pimply	face,	and	a	pointed	chin,	there	to	make	up	the	numbers.	Alf	had been	told	his	name	once	but	couldn't	remember	it.	"Dunno	about	the	ones	who went	into	the	city."

"I've	got	Hutch	waiting	on	the	access	road	outside	along	with	others,"	said Alf,	picking	up	the	thug's	gun.	"We're	going	to	blow	town;	you	want	to	come?"

"No	problem,	but	I	couldn't	find	the	password,"	said	the	youth.	He	was	the one	who	had	searched	the	van,	looking	for	a	way	to	get	it	started.

"I	got	it,"	said	Alf.	"Stand	by	the	right-side	door	to	let	the	others	in."

Alf	started	the	van	and	shot	out	of	the	camp.	The	droid	sentry	fired	once, clipping	the	van	just	above	the	back	door	but	otherwise	doing	little	damage.

Then,	the	city	systems	must	have	decided	that	as	the	vehicle	was	outside	the	city and	departing	at	speed,	it	was	of	no	further	interest.	They	stopped	to	pick	up	the others	-	the	youth	squawking	with	alarm	on	seeing	Sill.

"He's	no	danger,	Mil,"	said	Hutch.	"All	in.	Let's	go,	Alf."

After	that,	it	was	a	straight	milk	run	into	Creaghville	with	Sill	standing behind	the	seats	staring	out	at	the	desert	scenery	illuminated	by	headlights,	such as	it	was,	now	and	then	exclaiming	"Barto"	and	then	"Silda."

"Silda	means	change,	I	think,"	said	Elsbeth	after	getting	Sill	to	point	to	the word	in	the	dictionary.	"I	wish	I	had	time	to	study	the	grammar	section	of	the book."

"You	can	talk	to	this	guy?"	said	Mil,	short	for	Miloje.

"Limited	communication,"	said	Elsbeth.	"Holding	conversations	is	well down	the	track."

Then	they	started	seeing	houses,	the	occasional	side	road,	and	a	single refuelling	station.	As	it	was	well	after	hours,	the	houses	were	dark,	and	the refuelling	point	deserted,	but	the	sight	of	them	made	Alf	think	about	what	would happen	when	the	sun	rose	and	the	good	citizens	of	Creaghville,	going	about	their business,	caught	sight	of	Sill.

"Elsbeth,	you'd	better	break	out	that	cover	of	yours,"	he	said.	"We	don't	want people	overreacting	to	the	sight	of	Sill	before	we	get	somewhere	safe."

This	involved	further	consultation	with	the	dictionary	and,	initially,	a difficult	time	in	getting	Sill	to	accept	a	spare	sheet	from	the	camp	as	a	covering until	he	understood	what	it	was	for	and	that	his	face	would	not	be	covered.

Elsbeth	produced	a	couple	of	safety	pins	which	she	had	found	at	the	camp,	and when	the	sheet	had	been	fastened,	Sill	might	have	been	a	youth	on	his	way	to	a toga	party,	provided	no	one	looked	at	the	face.	So	dressed,	he	happily	stood behind	the	passenger	seat,	Elsbeth	by	his	side,	taking	in	the	sights.	When	they got	into	Creaghville	proper,	and	the	system's	sun	started	to	edge	over	the horizon,	making	them	all	realize	how	tired	they	were,	Brian	produced	a	pair	of sunglasses	for	Sill	to	wear.	This	also	took	some	persuasion	from	Elsbeth	through the	dictionary,	but	as	the	sun	got	brighter,	Sill	understood	the	need	for	them	and put	the	eyewear	on.	As	his	ears	were	shaped	differently	from	that	of	humans,	the sunglasses	tilted	forward.	But	overall,	unless	people	looked	closely,	the

sunglasses	reinforced	the	impression	that	Sill	was	an	eccentric	member	of	a youth	cult	partying	on.

Then	Alf	pulled	into	a	large	car	park,	almost	empty	apart	from	a	couple	of ground	cars	at	one	end,	walked	around	to	the	back,	opened	the	doors,	and	rapped his	pistol	on	the	van	floor.	"Come	on	guys,	up	and	at	'em."	Hutch,	Mil,	and Percival	had	fallen	asleep	and	had	to	be	shaken	by	Brian	before	they	realised	that they	were	being	ordered	out.

"It's	Mr	Charles'	van,"	protested	Hutch.

"You	can	pick	it	up	when	I've	finished	with	it,	which	will	be	later	this morning.	I'll	send	you	a	text	of	its	location.	For	now,	there's	a	transit	system station	just	over	there.	Go	and	grab	some	sleep	at	home."

"Where	are	we	going?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"I'm	dropping	you	and	Brian	at	the	university	to	see	that	lecturer-supervisor of	yours.	You	can	show	him	Sill,	the	dictionary,	and	the	other	stuff	we	took, including	the	alien	assault	rifles,	which	stay	here	incidentally,	fellas.	You	don't need	me	to	speak	to	your	lecturer,	and	he	must	have	a	lab	where	he	can	stash	Sill until	we	can	contact	the	proconsul."

"Are	you	going	to	see	that	police	sergeant	of	yours?"	asked	Elsbeth.

"Police	sergeant!"	exclaimed	Hutch.

"Yeah,	Hutch,	the	police	have	been	following	the	whole	saga	thanks	to	the stuff	we've	been	sending	them	and	not	the	corrupt	ones."

"A	sergeant	who	also	looks	good	in	a	bathrobe,"	said	Elsbeth.

"Shut	up,	Elsbeth!"	snapped	Alf,	making	Elsbeth	start.	"Guys,	move.	I	dunno if	you	did	anything	illegal	at	the	camp	and	don't	wanna	know.	The	police	will	be interested	in	the	fate	of	the	guy	before	us	who	Thumper	offed,	not	to	mention	the body	count	at	the	camp	itself.	Doc,	you	wanna	get	lost,	and	don't	let	me	catch you	by	yourself.	Now	move."

Percival	grunted,	then	he	and	the	thugs	were	gone.

"Where	is	this	university	of	yours,"	asked	Alf	of	Elsbeth	as	he	climbed	back into	the	driver's	seat.

At	Creaghville's	Imperial	administration	building,	Her	Excellency	Sara Whychute	was	becoming	increasingly	unhappy	with	the	answers	she	was	getting from	both	the	police	commissioner,	a	portly	gentleman	called	Dan	Dubinsky, and	a	white-haired	Major	Caspian	Darius,	who	commanded	the	only	military force	on	the	planet,	the	Imperial	auxiliaries.	After	batting	the	issue	around	the previous	day,	she	had	convened	an	early	morning	meeting,	hoping	to	get	the	two men	to	comply	with	her	orders	voluntarily.	The	major	was	too	old	for	his	rank, having	been	demoted	two	grades	by	a	court	martial	before	being	sent	to	the remote	post	of	Creaghville,	where	it	was	hoped	he	would	do	little	harm	until	he





reached	retirement	age.	He	had	the	red,	blotched	nose	and	watery	eyes	of	a heavy	drinker,	and	the	proconsul	had	already	found	cause	to	complain	about	his behaviour	to	her	superiors.

As	had	happened	many	times	during	the	three	months	Whychute	had	been	in office;	the	two	men	were	finding	reasons	for	not	doing	anything	and	denying	that problems	existed.

"I'm	sorry,	I	just	cannot	countenance	the	creation	of	another	special	police unit	for	corruption	and	organised	crime,"	said	Dubinski.	"We	already	have squads	working	hard	in	those	areas."

"I	don't	require	your	authorisation	or	even	approval,"	retorted	Whychute.	"I will	nominate	the	police	personnel	to	be	seconded	to	this	new	group,	and	they will	report	directly	to	me	from	office	space	in	this	building.	You	will	cooperate in	setting	up	this	group,	or	I	will	know	the	reason	why."

"But	ma'am,	we're	overstretched	as	it	is,"	said	Dubinski,	with	the	air	of	an adult	patiently	explaining	a	problem	to	a	child.	"Another	group	acting	at	cross purposes	to	existing	investigations	is	bad	practice,	and	we're	making	progress	in combating	corruption."

"You've	been	beating	confessions	out	of	low-level	thugs	and	cops	who	then all	claim	that	they	acted	alone,"	retorted	Whychute.	"Let's	disband	the	existing unit	and	have	the	new	unit	under	my	direct	control	take	another	look	at	those cases,	shall	we,	and	see	if	they'll	take	witness	protection	in	exchange	for testimony."

Dubinsky	blanched.	He	knew	that	tactic	might	be	effective.	But	before	he could	respond,	Whychute	moved	on.

"And	you,	major,	what	is	your	reason	for	refusing	to	send	your	soldiers	to this	site	we've	been	discussing	in	the	desert?	Clearly,	there	have	been	problems there.	I	order	you	to	send	a	detachment	to	the	site."

Major	Darius	barred	his	teeth	in	a	very	nasty	grin.	"I	saw	the	last	report	you sent	on	me,	ma'am.	You	said	some	things	I	didn't	like."

"Considering	you	have	a	habit	of	turning	up	to	meetings	drunk,	can	you blame	me?	And	how	did	you	happen	to	see	a	copy	of	that	report?"

"I	have	sources,"	said	Darius,	still	grinning	nastily.	"My	people	will	be needed	here	to	restore	government	stability	after	you've	been	removed	from office."

"What!"	shrieked	Whychute,	leaping	to	her	feet.

Major	Darius	produced	a	standard-issue	service	pistol,	which	he	pointed	at the	proconsul.	"Sit	down,	Whychute!"	he	snarled.

CHAPTER	TWENTY-ONE

When	her	front	door	chime	sounded,	Sergeant	Ellen	Pullen	first	checked	the visitor	was	who	she	expected	–	the	man	she	knew	as	Alf	but	was	really	Jake Langston	–	but	still	opened	the	door,	gun	in	hand.

"Pleased	to	see	me,	I	see,"	said	Alf/Jake,	eying	the	pistol.	The	safety	was	off.

"Get	in	quick,"	she	said,	looking	up	and	down	the	street	before	closing	the door.	"Were	you	followed?"

"Not	that	I	saw,	but	that	wouldn't	make	much	difference.	Elsbeth	asked,	in front	of	Mr	Charles's	thugs,	whether	I	was	going	to	see	my	police	sergeant."

"YOUR	police	sergeant?"

"Hey,	she	saw	that	comment	I	made	about	you	in	a	dressing	gown	and	has been	bugging	me	about	you.	I	didn't	think	to	tell	her	not	to	mention	you	in	front of	the	thugs."

"And	what's	her	interest	in	this?"	Ellen	knew	who	Brian	and	Elsbeth	were from	the	reports	she	had	been	getting.

"Elsbeth's	just	curious.	She	may	date	Brian,	who	has	expressed	interest, although	she	has	her	hands	full	taking	care	of	Sill."

"Humph!"

"You	know,	I	think	the	general	atmosphere	would	be	more	congenial	if	you didn't	have	a	gun	in	your	hand	with	the	safety	off."

"Oh,	very	well,"	Ellen	said	with	a	show	of	reluctance,	putting	the	pistol	in	its designated	sideboard	drawer.	"This	time,	I	will	offer	coffee."

"Great,	coffee,	and	you	might	not	shoot	me?"

"I'm	not	making	promises."

Once	the	police-issue	pistol	had	been	put	away,	Alf	thought	that	Sergeant Pullen	became	almost	human,	even	smiling	slightly	at	a	couple	of	incidents	in the	underground	city	Alf	related	over	coffee.	She	became	more	serious	when	Alf told	her	what	Percival	had	revealed	–	that	there	was	someone	that	Mr	Charles reported	to,	a	Mr	Acheron.

"An	even	bigger	crime	boss,"	said	Ellen.	"I've	never	heard	of	this	guy.	Any thoughts	on	who	he	might	be?"

"During	the	rebellion,	the	big	boss	for	the	military	was	a	guy	called	General Styx.	In	Greek	mythology,	the	river	Styx	is	the	boundary	of	Hades,	the	Greek underworld,	but	it	is	not	the	only	river.	There	are	several	others,	including Acheron,	the	river	of	pain."

"Charming,"	said	Ellen.	"You	think	these	references	to	Greek	mythology indicate	a	link	between	the	rebellion	and	this	Mr	Acheron?"

Alf	shrugged.	"Until	I	get	a	look	at	this	guy	or	there	is	a	thorough	police investigation	led	by	a	charming	sergeant	..."

"Ha!"

"You	didn't	call	me	slime	or	scum	just	for	complimenting	you."

"Slime,"	she	said	and	smiled	brightly,	making	Alf's	heart	skip	a	beat.	"You never	said	what	happened	to	your	fiancée	back	on	Martus	Prime."

"She	didn't	make	it,	and	I	was	really	sore	over	that	for	a	while."

"You	would	have	been.	Sorry	that	she	didn't	make	it.	Am	I	allowed	to	ask exactly	how?	Was	she	also	in	the	army?"

"Genevieve	was	a	transport	pilot	for	the	legions,	but	let's	not	get	into	it	now.

It's	almost	lunchtime,	and	we	could	order	some	food	–	I'll	buy."

"Hmmm!"

"Then	we	could	watch	something	on	your	entertainment	unit."

Ellen	sat	back	and	crossed	her	arms.

"This	sounds	almost	like	an	at-home	date,	Mr	Langston."

"I	always	think	that	it's	important	to	avoid	labels	or	categories.	We	both	have to	eat;	we're	here	together	and	have	time	to	kill.	You	can	call	me	slime	later, even	interrogate	me.	Tie	me	up	and	whip	me."

She	laughed.	"That	might	excite	you.	I	guess	we	both	have	to	eat.	Later,	I'll think	about	throwing	you	in	jail."

Proconsul	Sara	Whychute	did	not	so	much	yell	as	scream	her	response	to having	a	gun	waved	in	her	face.

"This	is	treason,	Major!	You	won't	get	away	with	a	demotion	for	this.	You'll be	sobering	up	in	the	Imperial	military	prison	for	life."

"I've	no	intention	of	being	caught,	Whychute.	Now	sit	down,	or	I'll	shoot	you down."

Ignoring	the	command,	the	proconsul	turned	to	the	commissioner.	"Are	you going	to	allow	this?	Call	your	people	in."

"Proconsul,	the	military	has	control	here.	I	allowed	the	Major	to	replace	his people	with	mine	as	part	of	what	I	thought	would	be	an	exercise.	Cas,	this	is	not what	we	agreed.	This	is	a	military	takeover."

The	proconsul	thought	that	Dubinski	remained	surprisingly	calm.

"What	did	you	agree	with,	Major	Darius?"	she	asked	sharply.

"Just	that	something	would	change,	perhaps	that	the	local	senate	would remove	you	from	office	legally	with	a	suspension	motion."

"What	justification	would	you	possibly	have	for	my	suspension,"	snapped Whychute.	"Every	attempt	at	reform	by	me	has	been	blocked	by	you	or	the	civil

service."

The	commissioner	thought	about	that	for	a	moment.	"Then	the	senate	can claim	lack	of	progress	as	the	pretext."

"Pretext?"	spluttered	Whychute.	"After	three	months?	The	administration will	cancel	the	suspension	the	moment	they	hear	of	it.	They	won't	even	refer	it	to the	Senate."

"But	they	will,	madam,"	said	Dubinski.	"We've	looked	at	the	law,	and	only the	Imperial	Senate	has	the	power	to	override	a	suspension	by	the	local	Senate, and	only	after	an	investigation.	By	the	time	the	procedures	have	been	followed, we	plan	to	be	long	gone	with	the	members	of	our	families	who	will	come	with us."

"Your	mistress,"	you	mean,	retorted	Whychute.

"My	children	are	adults;	my	wife	and	I	have	grown	...	apart,"	said	Dubinski calmly.

"Ha!"	said	Whychute.

"Enough	of	this,"	snapped	Major	Darius.	"You	can	argue	with	the	real driving	force	behind	this	....	incident."	He	raised	his	voice.	"Come	in,	general."

The	door	opened,	and	in	walked	a	tall,	slender	man	with	an	armed	thug trailing	behind	him.	Once	handsome	with	high	cheekbones	and	a	firm	jaw,	the white-haired	newcomer	had	aged	well,	moving	with	the	ease	of	someone	much younger.	With	a	carefully	cut	dark	suit,	pale	blue	tie	with	white,	diagonal	stripes with	a	red	thread	on	top	of	the	stripes,	he	might	have	been	a	retired	senior businessman,	except	that	when	his	dark,	expressionless	eyes	fixed	on	the proconsul,	she	felt	a	thrill	of	fear.

"Your	excellency,"	said	Major	Darious,	electing	to	be	formal.	"This	is General	Styx,	also	known	as	Mr	Acheron,	who	you	may	know	as	the	leader	of the	rebellion	on	Martus	Prime."

Ellen	and	Alf	sat	together	on	her	couch,	a	bowl	of	popcorn	between	them, while	they	watched	a	popular	romcom,	only	for	Alf	to	drift	off	to	sleep,	much	to Ellen's	chagrin.

"Hey!"	she	said,	shaking	him.	"If	my	company	and	this	film	are	so	boring, we	can	watch	something	else."

"It's	not	that,"	he	said,	blinking	and	yawning.	"I	didn't	sleep	at	all	last	night while	putting	in	a	lot	of	effort	escaping	from	the	city.

"Ha!"	she	said.	"Well,	I	guess	you	can	nap	on	the	couch.	Come	on."

She	stood	up,	just	as	he	also	stood	up,	so	that	they	were	close	together,	facing each	other.

"You	know	what	would	help	me	sleep,"	he	said	softly	after	a	moment.

"What,	Mr	Langston?"	She	did	not	move	away.

Alf	strode	forward,	wrapped	his	arms	around	Ellen,	and	kissed	her.	After	a muffled,	indignant	"Umm!"	Ellen	found	herself	kissing	him	back,	hands	on	Alf's back.

"It	is	a	pleasure	to	meet	you,	Proconsul,"	said	General	Styx.	"I	only	wish	it could	have	been	under	better	circumstances."

"You	mean	when	your	stooges	are	not	staging	military	coups,"	retorted Whychute.

"A	sad	necessity,"	said	the	General.	"But	the	expedition	into	that	alien	city did	not	go	as	I	hoped.	I	had	to	revise	my	schedule."

"You	were	behind	that	venture?	I	was	looking	at	the	material	that	came	out of	it.	You	may	have	done	Creaghville	a	service,	and	a	military	coup	is	not	going to	change	much.	The	Imperium	will	be	paying	a	lot	more	attention	to	this	place."

"That	may	be	true.	I	did	not	authorise	those	releases,	but	they	are	out	there and	have	gone	off-world,	so	I'm	told,"	said	the	General.	"I	had	planned	to	spend years	here	building	strength	and	acquiring	alien	technology.	As	it	is,	we'll	have to	requisition	ships	in	your	name,	fill	them	with	liberated	supplies	and	weapons, and	be	well	away	before	the	Imperial	Navy	gets	here.	In	the	meantime,	I've decided	to	make	an	example	of	the	thief	Alfonso	and	that	meddlesome	police sergeant	you've	chosen	to	favour.	I've	sent	my	best	men,	with	the	exception	of Gullo	here,	to	make	sure	they	suffer	before	dying.	Gullo,	a	square	block	of	a thug	with	a	shaven	head	and	a	total	lack	of	expression	on	his	round	face,	offered no	comment.

Whychute	almost	opened	her	mouth	to	say	that	Alf	might	be	a	lot	harder	to make	an	example	of	than	they	thought	but	then	remembered	that	there	was	no mention	in	the	public	parts	of	the	report	that	Alf	had	also	been	in	the	rebellion and	that	he	had	been	altered.

General	Styx	mistook	the	momentary	struggle	on	the	proconsul's	face	as concern	for	the	pair	and	smiled.	He	enjoyed	inflicting	pain.

Ellen	permitted	herself	a	few	minutes	of	snuggling	up	against	Alf's	body;	one arm	wrapped	around	her	as	she	preferred,	before	nudging	him.	The	soldier	had fallen	asleep	again.

"Hey,	wake	up,"	she	said.	"We	need	to	talk."

"Say,	what,	are	we	breaking	up	already?"

"It's	not	that,"	she	said.	"What	we	just	did,	twice,	shouldn't	have	happened.

You're	still	part	of	the	investigation.	But	if	we	don't	say	anything	and	you	clean up	your	act	–	go	to	the	courts	here,	plead	guilty	to	illegal	entry	and	making	false declarations	to	the	tax	office..."

"But	I	paid	all	taxes."

"I	think	that	means	they	won't	care	much	that	it	was	under	a	false	name.	With any	luck,	you'll	get	a	fine.	Same	for	the	illegal	entry,	as	the	trouble	is	getting people	to	come	here,	not	throwing	them	in	jail	when	they	arrive,	and	you	have	a skill	set	they	want."

"No	problem,"	said	Alf.	"Can	you	recommend	a	lawyer?	Maybe,	also,	the proconsul	can	put	in	a	word	for	me?"

"I	know	a	lawyer.	I'll	see	what	I	can	do	with	the	proconsul."

"Say,	are	you	expecting	anyone,"	said	Alf,	sitting	up	in	bed	and	then	jumping out,	naked,	to	put	his	underpants	on.

"No,	no	one,"	said	Ellen	flinging	off	the	bedclothes	to	stand	up	also	naked.

"Unless	it's	someone	from	the	proconsul's	office."

"I	can	hear	four	guys."

Someone	pounded	on	the	door.

"Get	dressed	quick.	I	parked	around	the	side	street.	They	won't	know	I'm here."

Ellen	pulled	on	her	panties	and	a	bra,	picking	them	up	from	the	floor,	with Alf	fastening	the	clip	at	the	back.

"Just	a	moment,	I'm	changing,"	she	called	in	her	best	suburban,	not-a-care-in-the-world	voice.	She	grabbed	shorts	and	a	tee	shirt.

"Go	for	your	pistol	before	going	near	that	door,"	whispered	Alf.	"If	not,	lead them	in	here."

Ellen	got	to	the	bedroom	door	while	hopping	into	her	shorts	and	opened	the door	to	the	main	room	before	the	men	outside	lost	patience	and	smashed	the front	door	open.	As	the	door	was	meant	to	be	proof	of	anything	short	of	a	ram the	police	use	in	raids,	Ellen	stood	in	the	corridor	doorway	in	shock	for	a	split second	before	fleeing	back	to	the	bedroom.

"Get	ready,"	she	whispered	to	Alf,	who	had	picked	up	an	old-fashioned wooden	lamp	stand	that	Ellen	had	bought	at	a	sale.	It	was	as	tall	as	her,	with	a round	base	and	a	shade	at	the	top.	Alf	reversed	it	so	that	the	base	was	uppermost, and	it	was	ready	to	go	as	a	club.

Inspector	Barastoc	was	first	through	the	bedroom	door,	which	swung inwards,	concealing	Alf,	shouting,	"You're	under	arrest."

"Pig's	arse,"	said	Ellen,	swinging	the	smaller	lamp	by	her	side	of	the	bed, knocking	the	gun	which	the	inspector	had	drawn	out	of	his	hand.	She	then	tried to	ram	the	lamp's	base	in	the	inspector's	face,	but	he	stepped	back,	grabbing	it.

Just	as	Ellen	and	Barastoc	started	a	tug	of	war	over	the	lamp,	Alf	stepped from	behind	the	door	swinging.	The	thug	closest	to	him	–	Alf	thought	he	was one	of	those	at	the	gym	–	collapsed.	The	second	had	time	to	turn	before	getting the	edge	of	the	lamp	base	on	the	side	of	the	heap	and	also	collapsing	in	a	heap.





That	left	the	third	and	by	far	the	largest	of	the	thugs,	and	the	reason	the	group had	been	able	to	kick	in	the	door	with	ease.

"Benji,"	said	Alf.

The	thug	turned,	and	his	eyes	widened	in	recognition.

"You,"	he	said.	Then	he	grinned.	"This	is	turning	out	better	than	I	expected."

CHAPTER	TWENTY-TWO

General	Styx	was	in	a	good	mood.	His	plans	had	gone	awry,	but	he	could	still inflict	pain	on	people,	which	always	put	him	in	a	good	move.	He	found	it amusing	to	increase	the	proconsul's	suffering	by	explaining	his	plans	for	her after	she	had	consented	to	sit	down.

"There	is	no	need	for	any	of	the	good	citizens	of	Creaghville	to	realise	that the	Imperial	representative	is	being	detained	or	that	the	government	is	under	our control.	Our	supplies	will	be	obtained	through	government	fund	transfers.	The ships	will	be	requisitioned	by	Imperial	warrants.	Attempts	to	contact	you	will	be blocked;	Imperial	bulletins	will	be	issued	regularly	but	be	so	bland	and	boring that	the	media	will	shelve	them.	By	the	time	anyone	realises	something	is	wrong, we	will	be	at	the	spaceport	with	any	portable	wealth	we	can	lay	our	hands	on.

Unfortunately,	digital	transfers	of	funds	won't	be	of	any	use	where	we're	going, but	gold	and	jewelry	still	have	some	value,	even	in	this	day	and	age.

"Do	you	seriously	expect	to	get	away	with	this?"

"I've	every	expectation	of	doing	so,	Proconsul,"	said	Styx,	smiling.	"Part	of my	rationale	for	choosing	this	undistinguished	backwater	is	that	the	Imperial Navy	has	no	units	here	at	all	or	anywhere	close;	the	military	is	very	small,	and the	place	is	comfortingly	corrupt.	You	were	brought	in	to	start	cleaning	it	up,	as	I understand."

"That	was	part	of	my	brief."

"Then	there	was	the	underground	Alien	city,	which	I	found	out	about	through my	extensive	network	of	contacts,	both	human	and	with	our	rival	space-faring civilisations.	Alien	technology	would	have	been	a	useful	extra	card	to	play."

"Your	plans	came	undone	there,"	said	Whychute.	"The	security	systems	in the	city	have	expelled	your	people."

"You're	remarkably	well	informed,	Your	Excellency,"	said	Styx,	eying	the proconsul.	"How	did	you	come	by	that	information?"

"The	Empire	is	well	informed	about	a	lot	of	things,"	she	said.

I	could	always	beat	the	names	out	of	you,	but	there's	no	need.	I	can	guess who	your	informants	might	be,	and,	as	I	said,	they	are	to	be	eliminated."

"I	haven't	seen	you	since	the	surrender,"	said	Benji	as	Ellen	and	Barastoc wrestled	on	the	bed

"You	know	scum	always	rises	to	the	top,	Benji,"	said	Alf.

He	jabbed	the	lamp	base	at	the	altered	human,	who	easily	stepped	out	of	the way	but	then	swung	it	at	Barastoc's	head,	connecting	with	the	edge.	The

inspector	yelled	and	staggered	away	from	Ellen,	holding	his	head	in	agony.	The sergeant	used	that	respite	to	go	for	the	inspector's	gun,	as	Alf	hoped	she	would, but	Benji	kicked	it	under	the	bed	and	backhanded	Ellen	with	a	swipe	of	his meaty	hand.	He	didn't	want	the	gun	for	himself.	He	liked	his	kills	up	close	and personal,	and	he	and	Alf	had	history.

He	charged.

Alf	threw	the	lamp	at	his	feet.	Benji	vaulted	it	with	ease	and	came	on,	hands outstretched,	planning	to	crush	Alf's	skull	against	the	wall.	He	liked	to	crush skulls.	Alf	dodged	to	his	right,	stomped	on	the	back	of	his	opponent's	knee	joint, making	him	stagger,	struck	him	on	the	side	of	the	head,	and	stepped	out	of	reach.

Out	of	the	corner	of	his	eye	Alf	saw	Ellen,	still	woozy	from	the	backhander, make	for	the	door.

Benji	shook	his	head	and	came	at	Alf	again,	seemingly	unfazed.	The	soldier dodged,	then	almost	tripped	over	the	lamp	stand	he	had	dropped.	Alf	rolled, which	proved	the	slight	pause	Benji	needed	to	close	the	gap.	He	was	bigger, stronger,	and	faster	than	Alf.	The	soldier	did	what	he	could	to	even	the	odds	by whipping	the	lamp	dropped	by	Ellen	into	his	opponent's	face,	but	Benji	blocked most	of	the	blow	with	another	swipe	of	his	massive	hand.	Alf	put	both	arms	up to	block	Benji's	attempt	to	grab	his	skull,	then	found	his	opponent's	skull	was open,	so	he	slapped	both	hands	on	it	and	tried	pushing	his	thumbs	through Benji's	eyes.	The	big	man	roared	in	pain	and	anger,	pulled	away,	and	smashed his	fist	into	the	side	of	Alf's	face,	easily	overcoming	the	soldier's	attempt	at blocking.

Alf	dropped	onto	the	bed,	and	Benji	fell	on	top	of	him,	grasping	the	soldier's windpipe	in	both	huge	hands.	Alf	tried	to	push	Benji	off	or	punch	at	his	Adam's apple,	with	all	his	efforts	seeming	feeble	against	the	man's	gigantic	strength.	His vision	was	starting	to	go	dark	when	he	heard,	"Police!	Stop,	or	I	shoot."

Benji	was	too	intent	on	his	work	to	hear	or	acknowledge	the	warning	until there	was	a	deafening	crack,	and	his	back	arched.	He	yelled	and	whipped around,	the	pressure	easing	on	Alf.

"Hands	where	I	can	see	them!"	snapped	Ellen,	holding	her	nine-millimetre service	pistol	in	approved	fashion.	She	had	gone	into	the	main	room	to	retrieve	it from	its	drawer.	This	time,	Alf	was	glad	to	note	that	the	safety	was	off.

"On	the	floor.	Do	it!"

"Like	hell!"	snarled	Benji	and	lunged	at	her,	meaning	to	smash	his	head	into her	face.	Ellen	got	off	a	shot	and	then	jerked	away,	avoiding	the	full	force	of Benji's	lunge	but	still	getting	enough	of	it	to	fall	heavily.	Alf	was	there	in	a moment,	ready	to	bury	the	base	of	the	standing	lamp	into	Benji's	skull	but	found his	opponent	limp.	He	checked	the	man's	pulse.	Benji	was	gone.	Ellen's	second

shot	had	penetrated	below	the	throat	but	above	the	bullet-proof	vest	which	had blocked	the	first	shot	at	such	a	steep	angle	that	it	had	reached	the	heart.	He	was dead	before	he	hit	the	ground.

"Thank	stars	for	that,"	said	Alf,	helping	Ellen	to	her	feet.

"Ow!"	she	said,	holding	the	side	of	her	face	where	Benji's	skull	had	hit	her.

"You'll	have	one	hell	of	a	bruise,"	said	Alf	examining	her	face,	"but	nothing permanent,	which	is	a	small	price	to	pay	for	getting	rid	of	Benji.	Of	course,	I	had him	where	I	wanted,	but	thanks	for	the	assistance."

"Yeah,	right!"	she	said,	smiling.	"But	now	I	face	a	boatload	of	paperwork	and inquiries."

"You'll	never	get	to	an	inquiry,	Ellen,"	said	Barastoc,	who	had	recovered	to sit	on	the	bed	while	still	holding	the	side	of	his	head.	"The	people	I'm	with	now have	the	pro-consul	under	their	control,	and	the	commissioner	and	that	major	in charge	of	the	auxiliaries	have	been	squared."

"Major	Darius?"	said	Alf.	"Isn't	he	supposed	to	be	a	drunk?"

Barastoc	shrugged.	"He's	our	drunk.	More	Police	and	soldiers	will	come	after you,	and	they	won't	try	to	do	the	police	thing	and	arrest	you	as	I	did.	If	you'd have	come	with	me,	you	might	have	lived,	Ellen."

"With	Benji	around,	I	don't	think	so,"	said	Alf.

"You	knew	him	from	the	rebellion?"	said	the	inspector.

"Yep.	He	got	his	jollies	back	then	by	crashing	the	skulls	of	Imperial prisoners.	He	and	I	had	words	when	I	refused	to	hand	over	my	prisoners.	I	dunno how	he	got	away,	but	Ellen	here	will	be	commended	for	shooting	the	man."

"If	the	Imperium	ever	finds	out	about	it,"	said	Barastoc.	"Like	I	said,	you guys	are	facing	a	short	life."

"Not	necessarily,"	said	Alf.

General	Styx	leafed	through	messages	passed	on	from	the	proconsul's secretariat.	Whychute	was	senior	enough	to	be	above	mere	digital communication,	at	least	when	it	came	to	matters	of	state.	Aides	would	review the	many	messages	she	received,	print	out	those	they	thought	she	should	look	at, and	put	them	on	her	desk.	The	procedure	had	many	advantages,	but	it	also	meant anyone	in	her	office	could	read	the	messages.	They	did	not	need	a	password.	He chuckled.

"We	may	yet	reap	some	benefits	from	that	alien	city,"	Styx	said.	"I	see	here that	a	professor	at	the	university	has	requested	a	meeting	with	himself,	two students,	and	interesting	artifacts	from	the	city	in	the	desert.	My,	my,	I'm intrigued.	I'll	put	'make	an	appointment	this	morning	soonest'	on	this.

Commissioner,	you	must	have	some	material	with	Her	Excellency's	signature	or initials	for	something	like	this."

"That	may	be	good	enough	for	arranging	an	appointment,"	Whychute	said,

"but	you'll	need	something	more	for	those	decrees	that	your	minions	are preparing."

"That	does	not	trouble	me,	proconsul.	Your	two	adult	children	are	developing careers	and	families	on	other	worlds	out	of	my	reach,	as	is	your	husband	on	his archaeological	dig.	But	there	are	members	of	staff	here	who	are	innocent	and who	you	know	and	care	about.	I	could	always	get	them	in	and	start	shooting pieces	off	them.

"You	bastard!"	exclaimed	Whychute.

Styx	grinned	broadly.	"Madam,	it's	part	of	the	process	that	I	enjoy."

Alf	parked	the	van	illegally	in	an	alley	close	to	government	house.	If	the vehicle	was	towed	away,	Mr	Charles	could	get	it	out	of	the	police	impound	by paying	the	fine.	After	Ellen	had	reassured	a	neighbour	who	said	she	thought	she had	heard	shots,	Alf	and	Ellen	had	loaded	Barastoc	and	the	two	thugs	into	the van.	Benji	was	left	where	he	had	fallen,	with	Alf	pointing	out	that	he	was unlikely	to	turn	zombie.	Barastoc	and	the	others	were	then	dropped	at	a	hospital, minus	their	wallets,	where	their	skulls	could	be	checked	for	fractures.	Barastoc was	sure	to	start	yelling	that	he	was	a	police	officer,	but	without	identification, the	hospital	would	begin	treatment	and	call	the	nearest	police	station,	which would	eventually	send	someone.	That	would	all	take	time,	and	the	inspector	did not	know	where	they	were	going,	nor	was	he	likely	to	guess	that	they	were heading	for	government	house.

Ellen	dropped	the	ice	pack	she	had	been	holding	to	her	face	into	a	street	bin as	Alf	went	over	their	options.	Ellen	had	called	the	number	she	had	been	given as	part	of	the	Imperial	protection	order,	only	to	be	told	by	Whychute's	executive assistant	that	the	pro-consul	was	"observing	a	military	exercise	she	had requested"	and	was	unavailable.	From	that,	Alf	guessed	that	the	military	exercise involved	a	takeover	of	the	Imperial	office	by	soldiers	under	Major	Darius.

"They	won't	need	all	that	many	to	replace	the	usual	security	guards	who	will probably	still	be	around	somewhere,"	he	told	Ellen	as	they	walked	towards government	house.	They	could	see	two	soldiers,	assault	rifles	at	the	ready,	in front	of	the	entrance,	and	an	APC	parked	in	the	street.	"And	they	won't	know that	Darius	has	turned	traitor.	Mostly,	they'll	be	school	leavers	looking	for adventure,	following	orders,	and	hoping	for	a	transfer	to	somewhere	more interesting.	In	the	meantime,	a	security	alert	at	government	house	kills	time."

"But	they'll	just	wave	us	away,"	said	Ellen.

"Show	your	police	ID.	Insist	on	speaking	to	whoever	is	in	charge.	That should	at	least	make	them	hesitate;	make	them	listen.	I'll	see	what	I	can	about disarming	them."

When	the	soldiers	realised	that	Ellen	and	Alf	were	intent	on	walking	to	the front	doors	of	government	house	they	tried	to	wave	them	away,	as	Ellen	thought they	might.

"Security	exercise	guys,"	said	one,	genially	enough,	when	the	newcomers were	close	enough.	"No	one	comes	in	or	out	of	government	house."

"I'm	a	police	sergeant,"	said	Ellen,	waving	her	ID,	"and	I	must	speak	to	the proconsul	about	a	treasonous	plot	uncovered	in	both	the	police	force	and	the auxiliaries.

"We	are	auxiliaries,"	said	the	second	soldier,	taken	aback.	"We	haven't	been involved	in	treason,	and	who	is	this	guy?"

Alf	swung	around	behind	them	and,	before	either	young	soldier	could	react, had	jammed	pistols	into	their	back.

"I'm	the	one	who's	telling	you	Major	Darius	has	turned	traitor	and	called	this security	exercise	as	a	means	of	detaining	the	proconsul."

"What?"	said	the	second	soldier.	"The	major	a	traitor?	I	thought	he	was	just	a drunk."

"He's	that	too,	but	don't	you	guys	worry	about	it;	hand	your	weapons	to	the police	sergeant	here	and,	yes,	she	really	is	a	police	sergeant...	your	pistols	as well.	Now	swing	around	so	that	any	observers	in	the	entrance	can't	see	what	I'm doing	and	head	for	the	APC."

"The	sarge	is	going	to	be	pissed	over	this,"	said	the	first	soldier.

"It's	either	this	or	commit	treason.	As	it	is,	you	don't	worry	about	it.	I'll	lock you	in	the	APC,	take	the	main	driver	key,	flick	the	disable	switch,	and	leave	you there.	Later,	you	can	claim	you	had	no	idea	what	was	really	happening."

Another	soldier,	older	and	distinctly	grumpier	than	the	two	youthful	entrance guards,	came	out	of	the	entrance.

"What	are	you	two	doing?"	he	asked.	"And	what	is	that	civilian	doing	with your	weapons?"

"Sergeant,	I	don't	want	to	mess	up	your	guys	or	you,"	said	Alf,	pointing	one of	his	pistols	at	the	newcomer.

"Is	this	part	of	the	exercise?"	said	the	sergeant,	eying	the	pistol.

"No,	because	there	is	no	exercise.	Major	Darius	has	turned	traitor	and	is using	this	exercise	as	a	cover	for	detaining	the	proconsul."

The	sergeant	thought	about	that	for	a	moment,	then	said,	"Shit!	How	do	I know	you're	not	just	using	that	story	to	get	to	the	proconsul	and	assassinate	her?"

"Fair	point,"	said	Alf.	The	sergeant	–	actually	a	sergeant	major	-	was	near retirement	and	had	the	grey	hair	and	weather-beaten	face	that	went	with	long service.	He	could	be	a	useful	ally.	"What	about	this?	The	police	sergeant	here and,	yes,	she's	a	real	police	sergeant."	Ellen	held	up	her	identification	to	prove





the	point,	"will	give	your	guys	back	their	weapons	provided	they	remain	in	front of	me,	as	do	you.	She	will	stand	behind	me.	Remember	that	she	is	a	real	police sergeant,	and	taking	her	out	is	not	a	good	idea.	This	is	all	supposed	to	be	an exercise,	remember.	No	one	should	get	hurt."

"Can	I	take	a	closer	look	at	that	identification,	ma'am,"	said	the	sergeant, who	duly	inspected	Ellen's	badge	and	grunted.	"You	give	my	guys	back	their weapons,	then	what?"

"We	all	walk	through	the	security	you've	got	inside.	You	tell	anyone	else	in there	to	back	off.	We	get	into	the	lift	and	go	right	to	the	top	–	that's	where	the office	is,	right,	Sergeant	Pullen."

"Yes,	Mr	Langston."

"We	call	out	the	proconsul,	and	she	can	tell	you	directly	what's	happening.

You	can	stand	in	front	of	her,	if	you	like,	or	yell	into	the	office,	but	you	must	be able	to	see	her	and	see	who's	with	her."

The	sergeant	shrugged.	"At	least	it's	a	more	interesting	exercise	than	usual."

CHAPTER	TWENTY-THREE

After	they	had	all	crowded	into	the	lift,	Ellen	standing	at	the	rear,	they	had	time for	small	talk.

"You	move	like	a	soldier,"	said	the	sergeant.

"If	you	mean	me,"	said	Alf,	"I	was	a	soldier	on	Martus	Prime."

"The	rebellion?"	said	the	sergeant,	half	turning.	"You	were	in	the	legions?"

"No,	other	side."

"What?"	The	sergeant	turned	around	entirely.	"You	were	a	rebel?"

"I	was	a	captain	in	the	Forgotten	Legion."

The	sergeant's	eyes	widened.	"And	I'm	leading	you	to	the	proconsul?"

"As	it	happens,	Proconsul	Whychute	knows	all	about	me,	including	my	brief stint	as	a	sergeant	in	the	auxiliaries.	Sergeant	Pullen	retrieved	my	record	from the	Imperial	archives	and	showed	it	to	Her	Excellency."

"Langston	here	doesn't	want	to	continue	the	fight,"	said	Ellen	from	the	back.

"The	people	you'll	find	with	her	are	former	rebels	who	want	to	escape	the Imperium."

"I'm	an	engineer.	I	want	to	fix	spaceships,"	said	Alf.	"You	go	in	and	sight	the Proconsul	but	be	wary.	Have	your	pistol	out."

"I'm	always	wary,"	said	the	sergeant,	turning	to	face	the	front,	"especially	of officers."

The	doors	opened,	and	the	first	thing	Alf	saw	was	Brian	and	Elsbeth	and another	figure	wrapped	in	a	sheet,	which	he	knew	must	be	Sill.	They	were	sitting on	a	settee	in	a	plush	anteroom	with	the	patterned	wallpaper	and	thick	carpet expected	in	the	offices	of	the	planet's	Imperial	representative.	There	was	another man	with	them,	a	tall,	portly,	balding	gentleman	whom	Alf	supposed	was	the academic	his	two	companions	had	gone	to	meet.	Brian	and	Elsbeth	leaped	to their	feet	when	they	saw	Alf	and	started	talking.

"Guys,	quiet,"	said	Alf.	"Just	for	now,	we	need	to	speak	to	the	Proconsul.

Where	is	her	office?"

Then	he	saw	a	worried-looking	individual,	Her	Excellency's	loyal	assistant Kensa,	sitting	behind	a	reception	desk.

"Sergeant	Pullen,"	he	said,	spotting	Ellen	in	the	group.	"You	should	be	at home."

"We	were	very	concerned	about	the	proconsul,"	said	Ellen.	"Is	she	in?	Is	she safe?"

"She	is	in	there,"	said	the	assistant,	gesturing	at	the	door	helpfully	labelled

'Proconsul',	"With	the	police	commissioner,	Major	Darius	and	two	other gentlemen.	One	old	and	nasty	and	the	other	young	and	cold,	with	a	pistol	in	a shoulder	holster.	I	tried	to	stop	them	as	there	was	no	appointment,	but	the	young one	pulled	his	pistol	on	me,	then	wrecked	my	phone	here	and	took	my	mobile."

He	leant	over	the	desk	to	whisper.	"I'm	worried."

"Major	Darious	has	declared	a	military	exercise	involving	the	auxiliaries taking	over	government	house,"	said	the	sergeant.	"Has	she	said	that	she approved	this?"

The	assistant	shook	his	head.	"Her	Excellency	never	said	anything	to	me before	it	started.	The	Major	and	the	Commissioner	are	there	by	appointment,	but the	other	two	just	arrived,	as	I	said,	and	I	haven't	been	allowed	to	speak	to	her."

"Okay,"	said	the	sergeant	to	Alf.	"This	doesn't	sound	good	for	Major	Darius.

How	do	you	want	to	play	this?"

"The	only	one	to	worry	about	is	the	young	one	with	the	gun."	He	spoke	to the	assistant.	"Can	you	call	him	to	the	door	and	say	there's	an	urgent	message	for the	proconsul?"

The	assistant	nodded,	opened	the	door,	and	called.	Alf	was	aware	of	voices murmuring	in	the	office	beyond.	The	thug	who	General	Styx	had	called	Gull came	to	the	door.	As	Alf	had	hoped,	the	man	was	not	expecting	any	trouble.	His weapon	was	in	its	shoulder	holster.	He	pushed	past	the	assistant	and	hit	Gull squarely	on	the	side	of	the	jaw.	He	staggered	back.	Alf	hit	him	again	in	the stomach,	making	the	thug	grunt	and	again	on	the	jaw,	before	grabbing	the	man's pistol	with	a	flick	of	the	securing	strap,	withdrawing	it,	and	using	it	to	rap	his opponent	hard	on	the	side	of	the	face.	Gull	went	down.	All	the	other	occupants of	the	room	stood	up.

"Major	Darius	is	committing	treason!"	screamed	Whychute.	"I	order	him arrested,	and	Commissioner	Dubinski	is	in	it	with	him.	Sergeant	Pullen,	arrest him."

"Commissioner,	it's	over,"	Ellen	said.

The	man's	body	sagged.

"Major	Darius,	don't	give	me	cause	to	shoot	you,	sir,"	said	the	auxiliary sergeant,	pointing	his	gun	at	the	Major.	The	Major's	mouth	dropped	open.

That	left	General	Styx.

"We	meet	again,	sir,"	said	Alf,	pointing	his	pistol	at	the	general.

"I	know	you,"	said	the	general.

"Captain	Langston,	tenth	independent	combat	command,	Forgotten	Legion, sir."

"So	you	were,"	said	Styx,	smiling	despite	everything	else.	"You	were	one	of the	best	and	altered,	as	I	recall.	You	took	over	the	tenth	from	Major	Pasha."

"Because	the	Major	was	killed	in	action,	sir."

"That's	right,"	said	the	general,	eyes	gleaming	as	Alf	advanced	on	him.

"Remember	all	those	that	died	fighting	the	Imperium;	are	they	all	going	to	die	in vain."

"I	remember	that	I	lost	good	men	covering	your	escape,"	said	Alf,	jamming his	pistol	under	the	general's	chin	and	forcing	him	against	the	wall.	"I	remember also	the	alteration	program."

"Which	you	got	through,	gaining	real	abilities,"	said	the	general,	speaking with	difficulty.

"Which	killed	a	lot	of	friends,	including	my	fiancée."

"Oh,"	said	the	general.

"I	was	just	told	she	was	shot	down,	but	later,	I	found	her	name	in	a	list	of those	on	the	program	and	was	shown	pictures	of	her	final	days.	Not	pretty	at	all, general.	I	would	love	to	pull	the	trigger	on	you	and	give	the	Proconsul	the problem	of	replacing	the	wallpaper."

"I	don't	want	to	have	to	replace	the	wallpaper,	Captain	Langston,"	said Whychute	mildly.	"I've	just	finished	redecorating."

"Are	you	going	to	make	me	arrest	you,"	said	Ellen	as	she	led	the commissioner	past	Alf	and	the	general.

Alf	stepped	to	one	side	and	threw	General	Styx	on	the	floor.

"On	the	other	hand,	you	could	spend	the	rest	of	your	miserable	life	in	jail, being	dragged	out	now	and	then	to	answer	questions."	He	looked	at	Ellen.	"You and	Elsbeth	never	let	me	have	any	fun."

Once	the	disgraced	senior	officials	had	been	taken	away	for	processing	and formal	arraignment,	Elsbeth,	Brian,	and	Elsbeth's	supervisor,	Professor	Albright, were	brought	in	to	be	presented	to	Proconsul.

"You	must	be	Alf's	Police	Sergeant,"	said	Elsbeth	to	Ellen,	who	had remained	behind	at	the	Proconsul's	request.

"I'm	not	his	police	sergeant,"	said	Ellen,	"but	I'm	certainly	the	police	sergeant he	had	contact	with.	I	hoped	he	behaved	himself	in	the	city."

"We	wouldn't	have	lasted	ten	minutes	without	him."

"Maybe	not	five,"	said	Brian.

"One	time	he	wanted	to	shoot	someone	in	cold	blood,"	said	Elsbeth cheerfully,	"but	didn't	when	I	said	he	was	scaring	us."

"Well,	that's	a	relief,"	said	Ellen.

"Who	is	this?"	asked	Whychute,	pointing	to	Sill's	wrapped-up	figure.





Alf	stripped	the	sheet	and	sunglasses	from	Sill,	who	looked	around	in astonishment.

"Behold,	Your	Excellency,"	he	said.	"A	servant	droid	made	in	the	image	of the	builders	of	the	city	we	were	in.	The	poor	guy	was	left	behind	when	the	city was	evacuated,	two	hundred	and	forty	years	ago,	give	or	take."

"Oh	my,"	said	Whychute.	"I	was	aware	of	some	of	the	history,	but	the	reality is	overwhelming."

Elsbeth	pointed	to	some	words	in	the	dictionary	she	had	previously	marked.

"I	told	him	boss,	big	boss,"	she	said,	"at	least	I	hope	that's	what	I	said."

Sill	clasped	his	hands	in	front	of	his	chest	and	bowed,	keeping	his	head	down for	a	time	before	straightening	up	and	stepping	back.

"That's	an	extension	of	previous	behaviour	indicating,	I	think,	polite greeting,"	said	Elsbeth.	"We	think	his	society	is	like	a	hive	with	a	single dominant	female."

"Well,	I'm	glad	someone	recognises	my	awesomeness,"	said	the	Proconsul.

"Tell	him	that	he	is	most	welcome	among	us,	and	I	hope	we	can	cooperate	and bring	mutual	understanding	between	ourselves	and	his	masters,	whoever	they may	be."

"Your	excellency,	the	most	I	do	for	now	is	find	welcome	in	the	dictionaries.

The	rest	will	have	to	wait."

"Oh	well	then,	just	tell	him	welcome	and	be	happy,"	said	the	Proconsul, smiling.

EPILOGUE

The	next	day,	Whychute	met	again	with	Ellen	Pullen.

"Looks	like	I'll	have	to	throw	you	in	straight	away,	Inspector	Pullen,"	she said.	"I've	directed	that	your	promotion	be	effective	immediately.	Pull	in everyone	connected	with	this	conspiracy	on	my	warrants	and	then	start	offering deals	to	the	undeserving	few	to	testify	against	the	undeserving	many.	With	the entire	criminal	apparatus	under	lock	and	key,	there	won't	be	anyone	to	threaten witnesses.	Tongues	should	wag	freely."

"I	was	hoping	to	let	some	of	my	former	colleagues	just	crawl	away,"	said Pullen,	in	exchange	for	information	of	who	and	where,	and	maybe	testimony against	the	big	bosses."

The	Proconsul	shrugged.	"Your	ex-husband	will	be	among	those	allowed	to crawl?"

"I	guess,	Your	Excellency,"	said	Ellen,	"but	it	will	help	keep	the	police	on side."

"Let	me	review	the	discretionary	cases	before	you	make	deals."

"Of	course,	Your	Excellency."

"You	are,	now,	one	of	the	few	local	police	I	trust,	and	I	expect	you	to	consult with	Major	Langston	about	an	investigation	into	the	auxiliaries."

"Major	Langston,	ma'am?

"I've	promoted	him	and	put	him	in	charge	of	the	auxiliaries.	His	career	in spaceship	engineering	will	have	to	wait	until	the	local	military	has	been	put	in order	and	he's	figured	out	how	to	shoot	our	way	back	into	the	city	with	minimal casualties.	There	is	no	one	else	with	anything	like	his	experience	and	record	in the	colony	and	no	real	hope	of	getting	anyone	in	less	than	three	months.	Never mind	that	he	fought	against	the	Imperium.	He	was	a	sergeant	in	the	auxiliaries and	has	shown	loyalty	in	helping	get	me	out	of	a	military	coup.	Major	Darius proved	to	be	such	a	fool	that	after	his	performance	I	expect	even	the	Legion hierarchy	will	make	only	token	protests	about	my	appointing	a	former	rebel	to command	an	auxiliary	garrison.	But	what	I	really	want	to	know	is	how	General Styx	got	hold	of	my	report	on	the	man	to	show	it	to	him."

"Yes,	ma'am.	In	fact,	I'll	have	to	form	several	squads	to	look	at	the	different issues.	Here	is	my	recommendation	for	the	head	of	one	of	those	squads."

Ellen	handed	Whychute	a	folder	which	she	flicked	open.	"Senior	Constable Samatha	Pye.	I	see	she	has	led	successful	investigations	into...	fraud	and dognapping?"

"Yes,	ma'am,	Poppy	was	missing."

The	Proconsul	shrugged	and	accepted	the	appointment,	including	promoting Samantha	to	sergeant,	then	waved	through	two	other	recommendations	of experienced	officers	who	Ellen	knew	were	not	corrupt.

"I	also	want	you	to	keep	an	eye	on	the	research	faculty	I'm	setting	up	with Sill	as	the	star	and	the	main	object	of	research.	Elsbeth	will	learn	Sill's	language and	Brian	will	learn	more	about	computer	systems	of	The	Engineers	with	the odds	and	ends	they	picked	up	in	there."

"That	all	sounds	good,	ma'am,"	said	Ellen.

"There	is	also	the	question	of	where	you	stand	in	relation	to	Major Langston?"

"Ma'am?"

"You	seem	to	have	some	control	over	him,	and	I'm	not	that	old	or	blind; what's	happening	between	you	two?"

"Well,	ma'am	..."

The	Proconsul	sighed.	"Fill	out	a	notification	of	relationship	form,	put	a	date for	the	start	of	intimacy	that	will	cause	the	least	trouble."

"Yes,	ma'am."

"And	the	section	on	psychic	intimacy,	you	are	to	leave	alone."

"Psychic	intimacy,	Ma'am?"

"Yes,	there	is	a	section	in	the	form	on	that.	I	served	on	the	committee	that revised	the	form.	This	included	some	total	nut	jobs	that	the	Imperial administration	wished	on	us.	Those	of	us	who	remained	sane	kept	their	peculiar ideas	to	that	one	section,	but	I	still	wake	up	screaming	over	my	time	on	that committee.	Honestly,	the	Imperial	asylums	should	be	expanded.	As	I	said,	fill out	that	form,	lodge	it	with	my	assistant,	who	will	know	what	to	do	with	it,	and never	mention	the	matter	to	me	again."

"Yes,	ma'am,"	Ellen	said,	smiling.





About	the	Author

Mark	 Lawson	 is	 a	 retired	 Australian	 journalist.	 He	 lives	 in	 Sydney	 with	 his family.

Read	more	at	M	S	Lawson’s	site.





Document Outline


Title Page

Copyright Page

Hidden City

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

EPILOGUE

About the Author