way through the crowd.
"So, Sam, one ordeal ends and another begins."
"True," McCade agreed. "I wish the second ordeal had a better chance of success. Finding the Vial of Tears will be like searching for a grain of sand in the middle of a desert."
Teeb waved the saying away with the tip of his tail. "Do not be so quick to doubt, egg brother. I once said you would never pass the tests, but now you wear the red, and the people honor you as one of their own. Where one miracle comes another can follow."
"I hope so," McCade replied doubtfully. "I sure hope so."
And there was reason for concern. McCade had one standard month in which to find the holy relic, and if he didn't, the conservatives would reach consensus and declare war on the human empire. He hoped the human empire was using the time to get ready.
A sharp right carried them into a heavily used corridor. It was full to overflowing with Star Sept troopers, administrative personnel, and spidery maintenance bots. All but the most senior officers hurried to get out of the way, and even they bowed their respect, entranced by the sight of an alien Ilwik.
A host of familiar odors filled McCade's nostrils as they neared the underground hangar. There was the smell of hot metal, the stench of high octane fuel, and the ever-present stink of ozone.
A set of heavy blastproof doors cycled open at their approach and revealed a waiting aircar. It was oval in shape with rows of bench seats. As they took their seats Sand Sept troopers jumped on the running boards and the car began to lift. Seconds later it was scooting full speed toward the far end of the hangar.
The hangar was huge. A deep rumbling came from up above as massive doors slid back to reveal a violet sky. A black wedge slid into sight, its navigation lights strobing on and off as it dropped toward the hangar below. Its shadow quickly shrunk until the rumble of the hangar doors was lost in the scream of the ship's repellors. Dust flared as it touched down and robo tenders rolled out to refuel it.
Farther down five interceptors took off on a training exercise. They seemed to float upward, riding their repellors until clear of the hangar and free to engage their main drives. Then they were gone, mere specks at the far end of long white contrails, arrows headed for the blackness of space.
Meanwhile the aircar passed rank after rank of ships. Some were military, some were civilian, all were in various stages of maintenance or repair. Technicians and robots swarmed around them like acolytes around a series of altars.
And everywhere smaller craft swooped, darted, and dived as they went about their various chores. It made such a spectacle that McCade was taken by surprise when the aircar came in for a landing next to a smallish ship.
Not just any ship, but his ship! McCade ran a critical eye over her hull as he got out of the aircar. Pegasus looked just the way he'd left her; in fact, she looked even better. Light reflected off the new coat of heat reflectant paint that covered the hull and a number of small dents had disappeared.
"We took the liberty of doing some maintenance on your ship," Teeb said. "There is no cause for alarm. While we are not really set up for maintenance on human ships, we do capture them from time to time, and our technicians have become quite adept at working on them."
"Well, it certainly looks good," McCade said cautiously. "Send the bill to Prince Alexander."
"I would not think of it," Teeb answered with a straight face. "As an Ilwik you have a generous expense account plus a salary of one hundred thousand rang a year."
"Really?" McCade asked, brightening at the thought of additional income. "Well, here's hoping I live long enough to spend it."
Teeb stuck his hand out human style and McCade took it. The Il Ronnian's grip was strong and leathery. "Good luck, Sam."
"Same to you, egg brother," and to McCade's surprise, he found he meant it.
McCade had climbed the rollaway stairs, and was
"So, Sam, one ordeal ends and another begins."
"True," McCade agreed. "I wish the second ordeal had a better chance of success. Finding the Vial of Tears will be like searching for a grain of sand in the middle of a desert."
Teeb waved the saying away with the tip of his tail. "Do not be so quick to doubt, egg brother. I once said you would never pass the tests, but now you wear the red, and the people honor you as one of their own. Where one miracle comes another can follow."
"I hope so," McCade replied doubtfully. "I sure hope so."
And there was reason for concern. McCade had one standard month in which to find the holy relic, and if he didn't, the conservatives would reach consensus and declare war on the human empire. He hoped the human empire was using the time to get ready.
A sharp right carried them into a heavily used corridor. It was full to overflowing with Star Sept troopers, administrative personnel, and spidery maintenance bots. All but the most senior officers hurried to get out of the way, and even they bowed their respect, entranced by the sight of an alien Ilwik.
A host of familiar odors filled McCade's nostrils as they neared the underground hangar. There was the smell of hot metal, the stench of high octane fuel, and the ever-present stink of ozone.
A set of heavy blastproof doors cycled open at their approach and revealed a waiting aircar. It was oval in shape with rows of bench seats. As they took their seats Sand Sept troopers jumped on the running boards and the car began to lift. Seconds later it was scooting full speed toward the far end of the hangar.
The hangar was huge. A deep rumbling came from up above as massive doors slid back to reveal a violet sky. A black wedge slid into sight, its navigation lights strobing on and off as it dropped toward the hangar below. Its shadow quickly shrunk until the rumble of the hangar doors was lost in the scream of the ship's repellors. Dust flared as it touched down and robo tenders rolled out to refuel it.
Farther down five interceptors took off on a training exercise. They seemed to float upward, riding their repellors until clear of the hangar and free to engage their main drives. Then they were gone, mere specks at the far end of long white contrails, arrows headed for the blackness of space.
Meanwhile the aircar passed rank after rank of ships. Some were military, some were civilian, all were in various stages of maintenance or repair. Technicians and robots swarmed around them like acolytes around a series of altars.
And everywhere smaller craft swooped, darted, and dived as they went about their various chores. It made such a spectacle that McCade was taken by surprise when the aircar came in for a landing next to a smallish ship.
Not just any ship, but his ship! McCade ran a critical eye over her hull as he got out of the aircar. Pegasus looked just the way he'd left her; in fact, she looked even better. Light reflected off the new coat of heat reflectant paint that covered the hull and a number of small dents had disappeared.
"We took the liberty of doing some maintenance on your ship," Teeb said. "There is no cause for alarm. While we are not really set up for maintenance on human ships, we do capture them from time to time, and our technicians have become quite adept at working on them."
"Well, it certainly looks good," McCade said cautiously. "Send the bill to Prince Alexander."
"I would not think of it," Teeb answered with a straight face. "As an Ilwik you have a generous expense account plus a salary of one hundred thousand rang a year."
"Really?" McCade asked, brightening at the thought of additional income. "Well, here's hoping I live long enough to spend it."
Teeb stuck his hand out human style and McCade took it. The Il Ronnian's grip was strong and leathery. "Good luck, Sam."
"Same to you, egg brother," and to McCade's surprise, he found he meant it.
McCade had climbed the rollaway stairs, and was
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