effect, plus your thumbprints on a standard salvage contract, and I'll go to work."
It took about fifteen minutes to make the tape and thumbprint the necessary document, Cap was more than a little resentful about their failure to consult him, but chose to let it go, knowing they could easily blame him for the whole situation.
Captain Edna saw them to the main hatch. "Can you communicate with Pylax?"
Lando shrugged. "Probably."
"Good. I have an electronic mailbox there. Give it a call one standard week from now."
Lando agreed, shook her hand, and followed the others through the lock. Sensing their presence the drifter flooded the bay with greenish light. By the time they cleared the area a green blob was forming around the ship. They watched as the ship seemed to snap out of existence. There was a pop of equalizing pressure and a loud exclamation as Cy squirted himself into the bay.
"The ship! Where did the ship go? Bring it back!"
Lando looked puzzled. "It took off. What's the problem?"
The deck seemed to shift beneath his feet. A familiar nausea entered his gut. A hyperspace shift! The drifter had gone FTL. But that couldn't be. Could it?
Lando looked at Cy. The others did likewise. The cyborg sagged to a lower altitude. "The problem? You want to know what the problem is? We're in hyperspace, that's what the problem is⦠and I don't have the faintest idea where we're going!"
8
The Il Ronnian Sand Sept trooper stood on a low wall. He was tall and his long spindly legs ended in cloven hooves. His skin was leathery and hairless where it showed around his uniform. Eons before its reddish hue had provided his ancestors with protective coloration on a world of red sand. The trooper's eyes were almost invisible within the shadow cast by a prominent supra-orbital ridge. He had long pointy ears and a tail with a triangular appendage on the end. It rose to shade his eyes from the sun.
Beyond the trooper, higher up on the opposite hillside, Wexel-15 could see another crew hard at work looting a museum. When younger the heavy had spent many happy rals in the museum staring at the perfectly preserved life-forms displayed there and wondering where they came from. Everyone knew that the Lords had occupied many worlds. But where were they? And what were they like?
The trooper saw that Wexel-15 was idle and frowned. His voice boomed through the translator that hung round his neck. "Hurry up, slave. I haven't got all day!"
Wexel-15 processed the alien's words and was just about to speak when the Il Ronnian drew his arm back and brought it forward with lightning speed. The whip was fifteen feet long. It made a loud cracking sound as it came down across Wexel-15's back. The pain was incredible, but outside of an involuntary grunt, he gave no sign of it. To do so would pleasure the Il Ronnian work master and this he refused to do.
Like all of his kind Wexel-15 had a blocky frame that was heavily layered with muscle. It rippled and bunched under the surface of his lavender skin. He wanted to grab the alien,
wanted to rip his arms off, but knew better than to try. Other members of his caste had attacked the Sand Sept troopers and their bodies hung upside down in the main square.
The lights said to wait, said that the time would come, but Wexel-15 had his doubts. The lights might be more intelligent than the heavies, but they were intellectually constipated as well, and had a tendency to dither rather than act.
The truth was that no one knew much about the Il Ronniansâ except that they had dropped out of the sky, enslaved the population, and systematically stolen everything in sight. And were still at it. The Lords had known many things and the Il Ronnians wanted that knowledge.
God was surely displeased but had yet to express that anger. And what, outside of divine intervention, could stop them?
So Wexel-15 did as he was told, nodded obediently when the Sand Sept trooper told him to return in four rals, and joined the
It took about fifteen minutes to make the tape and thumbprint the necessary document, Cap was more than a little resentful about their failure to consult him, but chose to let it go, knowing they could easily blame him for the whole situation.
Captain Edna saw them to the main hatch. "Can you communicate with Pylax?"
Lando shrugged. "Probably."
"Good. I have an electronic mailbox there. Give it a call one standard week from now."
Lando agreed, shook her hand, and followed the others through the lock. Sensing their presence the drifter flooded the bay with greenish light. By the time they cleared the area a green blob was forming around the ship. They watched as the ship seemed to snap out of existence. There was a pop of equalizing pressure and a loud exclamation as Cy squirted himself into the bay.
"The ship! Where did the ship go? Bring it back!"
Lando looked puzzled. "It took off. What's the problem?"
The deck seemed to shift beneath his feet. A familiar nausea entered his gut. A hyperspace shift! The drifter had gone FTL. But that couldn't be. Could it?
Lando looked at Cy. The others did likewise. The cyborg sagged to a lower altitude. "The problem? You want to know what the problem is? We're in hyperspace, that's what the problem is⦠and I don't have the faintest idea where we're going!"
8
The Il Ronnian Sand Sept trooper stood on a low wall. He was tall and his long spindly legs ended in cloven hooves. His skin was leathery and hairless where it showed around his uniform. Eons before its reddish hue had provided his ancestors with protective coloration on a world of red sand. The trooper's eyes were almost invisible within the shadow cast by a prominent supra-orbital ridge. He had long pointy ears and a tail with a triangular appendage on the end. It rose to shade his eyes from the sun.
Beyond the trooper, higher up on the opposite hillside, Wexel-15 could see another crew hard at work looting a museum. When younger the heavy had spent many happy rals in the museum staring at the perfectly preserved life-forms displayed there and wondering where they came from. Everyone knew that the Lords had occupied many worlds. But where were they? And what were they like?
The trooper saw that Wexel-15 was idle and frowned. His voice boomed through the translator that hung round his neck. "Hurry up, slave. I haven't got all day!"
Wexel-15 processed the alien's words and was just about to speak when the Il Ronnian drew his arm back and brought it forward with lightning speed. The whip was fifteen feet long. It made a loud cracking sound as it came down across Wexel-15's back. The pain was incredible, but outside of an involuntary grunt, he gave no sign of it. To do so would pleasure the Il Ronnian work master and this he refused to do.
Like all of his kind Wexel-15 had a blocky frame that was heavily layered with muscle. It rippled and bunched under the surface of his lavender skin. He wanted to grab the alien,
wanted to rip his arms off, but knew better than to try. Other members of his caste had attacked the Sand Sept troopers and their bodies hung upside down in the main square.
The lights said to wait, said that the time would come, but Wexel-15 had his doubts. The lights might be more intelligent than the heavies, but they were intellectually constipated as well, and had a tendency to dither rather than act.
The truth was that no one knew much about the Il Ronniansâ except that they had dropped out of the sky, enslaved the population, and systematically stolen everything in sight. And were still at it. The Lords had known many things and the Il Ronnians wanted that knowledge.
God was surely displeased but had yet to express that anger. And what, outside of divine intervention, could stop them?
So Wexel-15 did as he was told, nodded obediently when the Sand Sept trooper told him to return in four rals, and joined the
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