The treacherous double agent aimed
his needler pistol at me as he prepared to escape. I didn't think he could
kill me with one shot from the small weapon, but I didn't want to find
out. Dalmor was working for the Sathar, that mysterious, evil race of intelligent
worms who were trying to conquer and destroy peaceful worlds. I knew he
was ruthless. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my Vrusk partner,
C'hting. The eight-legged insect man had faster reflexes than I, and I
knew he was calculating whether he could draw his blaster and fire before
Dalmor could shoot.
 |
The thought was still in my mind when
one of C'hting's arms flashed in a lightning-swiff draw. I dived to the
floor as Datmor swung his pistol, but the needles whizzed harmlessly past
C'hting and me. C'hting's laser beam only grazed Dalmor as he dashed out
the door. We charged after him, but my curse was echoed by C'hting as we
watched Dalmor leap aboard the monorail.
 |
| We jumped into my waiting skimmer
and maneuvered into traffic, gliding smoothly above the road. ''It is fortunate
Bakchu the Yazirian is guarding the spaceport,'' C'hting rasped.
"If that big monkey can't handle Dalmor,
no one can," I replied. "That's only if Dalmor's going to the spaceport,
though," I added. "There are two other monorail terminals on the way. Maybe
we can get to one of them before his car does." The skimmer was running
at top speed, but I clenched the controls in frustration at every corner
as the magnetic control fields slowed us to a safe speed. We arrived at
the terminal just as Dalmor's car was pulling in.
|
Leaping from the skimmer, we ran to the exit ramp. Both C'hting and I crouched behind the polycrete wall and aimed our weapons at a very surprised Dalmor as he stepped from the car barely 10 meters away. "You are under arrest, Dalmor. Do not move," clicked C'hting. With a desperate cry, Dalmor drew the needler from his coat. C'hting and I fired before he could aim. Both shots hit Dalmor and he sprawled across the platform, unconscious but still alive. |
| After filing our reports with our
contact at the Pan-Galactic Corporation, C'hting, Bakchu and I drove to
the Spacer's Rest to celebrate over a few mugs of thick Yazirian ale. We
were discussing what we would do with the 100 credits each of us had earned
for the mission when all three of our communicators signaled incoming calls
at once. Bakchu snarled in dismay when the face of Beren Tiu, our contact
at PGC, appeared on the tiny screens. "Ah, I'm glad I've got all of you
together," he smiled. "Nice job on Dalmor, though it's a shame you had
to shoot him in public. I called to tell you that while we were interrogating
him we got a lead on a lime job you might...''
"Hold it, Beren," I growled. "You promised us we could take a week off after this mission and, by the stars, I'm going to take a week off!'' C'hting and Bakchu rumbled in agreement, and Tiu looked disappointed.
Two hundred credits! The three of us looked at each other, and Bakchu curled his lips in a knowing smile. "What's the job?" I asked. |
