
            -------------------------------------------------------

            F  I  C  T  I  O  N  A  L  *  R  A  M  B  L  I  N  G  S

            -------------------------------------------------------

             The second part of the ELITE novella - The Dark Wheel


                ----------------------------------------------

                The Dark Wheel - A novella by Robert Holdstock

                ----------------------------------------------



                                 CHAPTER FOUR

'You've got a ship,' said  Rafe,   'You've  got  money.   You've got a co-pilot
who's a better shot than you, but  not  for  long  I  hope. Now it's up to you,
young Alex.  And one thing more. If Jason  were here he'd have this to say.  In
time of trouble,  forget common sense,  forget the force.  Do what  you  goddam
feel like.  If it don't work,  one  thing's  for  sure.  You ain't going  to be
around to regret it.'
    Seated at the astrogation  console  of  the  Cobra,   Alex  watched  Rafe's
home  on the forward screen.   It  was  a  much  modified,  and  quite  bizarre
looking,  Anaconda cruiser,   its  cargo   bay  dented,   its fuel-scoop ripped
open, its hull lights blinking not so much with meaning as with disrepair.
    Rafe had not invited him aboard.  At 0.1 light years from Tionisla  he  was
safe from  detection,   and  here  he  stayed  in  the  cold  and   silence  of
interstellar space, collecting ships, fuel,  food  and weapons. Three Mambas  -
small  fighters - were tethered to the  service bay  on  the  Anaconda's  hull,
robots  crawling  all  over them as  they   patched-up  the  shot  up  vessels.
Unlike humans, robots could work without arc-lights.
    When the graveyard ship  had  arrived  at  Rafe  Zetter's  private  system,
Rafe's holoFac had appeared in the cabin.
    'It  takes a lot of effort  and  a  lot  of  wile to get supplies  for  the
sort of mission you're about to go on.  I'll fuel your ship enough to  get  you
to Isinor.  But  from  then  on  you're  on  your  own.   You're  going to need
missiles,  operational lasers,  an  energy  bomb,   a  fuel-scoop  ...  a whole
bunch of other things.'
    'An iron ass,' Alex muttered with a smile.
    'That's right.  And I don't  want  to  hear  from  you again  until  you've
scalped that Cobra that killed Jason.'
    'Why are you doing this for me?'
    'I'm  doing it for  Jason,'  Rafe  said.   'And  for  others  besides.  And
listen Alex.  Don't you go  worrying  about  Raxxla.   Not  yet.  That comes in
time ...'
    'But why did he say it?'
    'To let me know he trusted you.  You father reckoned you have it in you  to
become one of the Elite. That's good enough for me.'
    Alex's head span.  What was the  old  man  saying  now? Not just that Jason
Ryder had been an elite combateer,  but  that he'd seen the same  potential  in
his son?
    In Simcombat Alex had often  built  up  a  success and survival score  that
had awarded him the  simulator's  highest  accolade:   a  victory roll over the
mock-up of the old earth city  of  London.   But  he  had never thought that in
real life he would ever achieve a combat status higher than 'dangerous'.
    To be elite...
    A dizzying prospect.  And a nerve-racking one, with all that it implied  of
not just fighting off free-booters,  but of spending time as a  bounty  hunter,
deliberately  hyperspacing into dangerous planetary   systems  and  waiting for
pirates to come to you;  looking for  trouble,  in other words,  boosting  your
combat status to  the  maximum  by   advertising   yourself   to   killers, and
outgunning them.
    'One  thing's for sure,'  Rafe  went  on  drily.   'Unless you  get  there,
unless you become elite, you'll  never  get  to  Raxxla.  And you'll never know
exactly what your father was searching for.'
    'I don't understand.'
    'Were you aware of his involvement in the Dark Wheel?'
    Shock  after shock!  The  Dark  Wheel  was  a  semi-legendary  space  unit,
star-riders  who  made  it  their  business  to  seek   the  truth  behind  the
plethora of myths and romantic stories that  filtered back from all corners  of
the  Universe:   fabulous  cities,   parallel  worlds,  time  travellers,  even
planets  that appeared to be  the  old  'heaven'  of  Earth  legend.  The  Dark
Wheel  was as mysterious and  as  mythical  to  the  traders of the  Galaxy  as
King Arthur might have been to the first spacemen.
    'It's not possible,' Alex breathed. 'He would have told us ...'
    'The hell he would,' Rafe  said,   staring  at  the  younger man  from  the
shimmering  holoFac  on the  bridge.   'The  ship  that  killed  Jason  was  no
pirate. He was killed  because  he'd  found  something.  Something that certain
parties were deeply unhappy that he'd found.'
    'What exactly?'
    Rafe laughed.  'Listen to the boy!  Look  at  me,  Alex. Do I look whole? I
do?  Well  I ain't.  One leg,   some  of  my  liver,   a few brain cells -  all
that's  left of the real me.   The  rest  is  just  bionic.  Trying to do  what
your father did,  I got shot  to  hell  'n'  back.   I was elite once.  Now  it
takes me ten seconds to decide  to  spit.   He  didn't  tell me because I'm not
part of it anymore. Not to that  degree.  But  I  watch  and I listen, and I do
what  I'm  told.  And  as   sure  as  there's  gold-flake  on  the  skin  of  a
Geretean,  Jason  Ryder  told  me   to   get  you   ready   to  follow  in  his
footsteps.'
    Coming so soon after  his  father's  death,   with  the memory  of  Jason's
murder so vivid in his mind,   it  was  almost  too  much for Alex.  He  didn't
know whether to glow with  pride,  or  shake  with  apprehension. he slowly sat
down  at the astrogation console and played  his fingers over the  controls  of
the Cobra.
    After  a while he  smiled,   and  shrugged  away  the  confusions  and  the
sadness he was feeling.
    'Right.  If it's what  my  father  wanted,   then  I shan't disappoint  him
...'



                                 CHAPTER FIVE

Out  of  Witch-Space:    the   dizziness,   the   slight   shudder,  the  brief
disorientation.  Ahead of them,   the  distant,   red-blue  disc  of the planet
Xezaor was only slightly brighter than the gleaming field of stars around.  The
planet's sun was dim and very close by.  It glowed red.  A dying star,  as  the
world ahead of them was  a  dying  world,   a  cooling  world,  a  world  whose
wealth and industrial development could not  hold back the process of  Galactic
ageing.  Xezaor  was  a world  where  luxuries  and  warmth  meant  everything,
now, and Shanaskilk fur, with the  multiple  heads still intact,  would fetch a
high price.
    Routine.  A routine trade  run.  Elyssia  dozed,  Alex punched co-ordinates
into  the auto-pilot and prepared to pass the time of the long  run-in  to  the
world.
    Routine, a routine which Alex was by now well used to.
    Out  of  Witch-Space  and  then  the  slow   approach  until  the  Coriolis
station came on target-
    Nothing to do ...
    Nothing to see ...
    The Cobra rocked and a sound  like  the  screech  of metal being bent apart
echoed through the bridge!
    'Company!' Alex said loudly,   and  Elyssia  blinked  awake.  She must have
assessed the situation in an instant. She  remained where she was. Alex was  at
the console and there were only seconds available for thought.
    Alex  had been  taken by  suprise,   not  because  he  hadn't  been  paying
attention,  but  because the attack  ships  had  been  so  close to the  egress
point from hyperspace.  With  their  tiny  hulls  between  him and the  glowing
sun,  they  had  not  been   visible  for  an   instant,   and  they  had  been
performing a 'tumbling' routine, mimicking, slow-moving asteroids.
    Alex  had half noticed them  and  half  ignored  them.   They had  got  the
first shot in, then overflown the Cobra.
    Now,  they grouped behind as  Alex  punched  up  maximum speed, and scanned
space for them.
    'Here they come ...'
    The shields screamed as laser  fire  played  off  them.  Beam lasers? Those
ships were well equipped.  But  then,  so  now  was  the Nemesis,  the dramatic
name  that he and Elyssia  had  given  to  their  ship.  Alex checked the  rear
monitor and lined up the  firing  window.   He  stabbed  out two bursts of fire
from the newly installed  aft-laser.   The  pirate  ships  veered apart, one of
them struck.
    As he had them on the screen, he targeted a missile. A missile from one  of
the attacking craft began to weave  towards  them, and his screen flashed  with
warning.  Alex operated the  Nemesis's  ECM,   and  after an  agonisingly  long
few  seconds the incoming missile vanished in a burst  of  heat  and  light.
    The  hull screeched and  Alex  dived.   He  noticed  that the  shields  had
begun to put a drain on the first energy unit.
    Elyssia sat calm and quiet  while  Alex  handled  the situation.  Ahead  of
them,  the  planet  edged  closer,   rising  and  falling  and  spinning  in  a
dizzying way as Alex fought for a better combat position.
    Then instinct took over.  He  looped  the  Cobra  a  full 180  degrees  and
raced head-on at the pirate vessel that had been behind him.  Now he could  see
that  it was a Fer-de-lance,  a  sleek,   fast ship that  was  probably  loaded
down with sophisticated  navigational  and  defence  equipment  that  had  been
installed by the original owner. Or maybe  not ... such equipment took  cash to
maintain, and this ship had seen battle service aplenty.
    As  pirate and Alex closed,   Alex  took  a  chance.   they had  only  four
missiles and one  was targeted.  He punched   for fire and the Cobra jolted  as
the deadly sting shot across space.
    It reached its target and the Fer-de-lance literally disappeared.
    Had it hyperspaced? No.
    When Alex activated the rear  screen,   he  saw  the spreading ash cloud, a
silvery glimmer against the stars ...
    'Good shooting!' Elyssia said enthusiastically.
    Through the cloud of metal and ash came the other ship.
    Alex looped  again.  A laser  strike  depleted  the  aft shield even  more.
But now that the enemy knew that its prey had an anti-missile  system,  it  was
going to try and dogfight Alex to destruction.
    This ship was a Cobra too.   It's  fuel-scoop  gaped,  ready to suck up the
canisters  of precious Shanaskilk  fur  from  the  wreckage  of  the  shattered
trader.
    Alex had other ideas.
    Again,  Xezaor was ahead  of  them.  rear-shooting,  Alex ducked and darted
towards safety,  and the  pirate  weaved  a  snaking  pattern against the star-
field behind. Alex targeted a missile -
    'Save it if you can ...' Elyssia breathed.
    'I know,' said Alex. 'But at least we can afford a replacement ...'
    We won't afford the  fuel  scoop  then,'  Elyssia  reminded him,  and  they
both laughed. At a time like this, worried about their shopping list!
    The  space station,  and  the  safety  it  afforded  with its  own  fighter
defences,  was too far  away.  Alex  veered  sharply  sunwards, and dropped his
forward velocity dramatically.  the  pursuing  ship  copied  the first movement
precisely, but took a few  seconds  to  orientate  to  the second. It overshot.
Before  it  knew what was  happening  it  was  no  longer the  hunter  but  the
hunted.
    'Go,  Alex, go!' Elyssia shouted,  as  Alex  shot  off pulse after pulse of
laser fire.  the Cobra on the screen ducked  and weaved, but Alex was equal  to
it,  hardly thinking,  just reacting.   the  temperature of his  forward  laser
began  to  rise dangerously.  The Cobra ahead of  them  launched  a  missile at
them, and Alex shot it, not even bothering to program the ECM.
    Elyssia gasped at the cheek  of  that,   and  glanced  at the young man  in
whose hands her life was being so capably held.
    A moment later it was  all  over.   The  pirate exploded, his screen energy
finally exhausted.  Alex saw the wink and flash of a jetissoned escape pod  and
for a second -
    Remembering the  beam of fire  that  had  destroyed  his own escape  craft,
remembering the savage destruction of the Avalonia ...
    -  he was tempted  to  go  in  pursuit.   His better  judgement  prevailed.
Around them, cargo cannisters tumbled like sycamore seeds.
    'And us with no scoop to pick them up!' Elyssia muttered.
    Alex grinned. 'We claim two. that's quite a bounty.'
    Elyssia  looked  down at  him  as  he  sat  and  guided  the  ship  towards
Xezaor.  'Alex,  you're a natural.   It's  an  honour  to  ride the stars  with
you.'
    No-one had said a word,  neither  of  them  commented  on it: the fact that
this had been Alex's first solo combat!



                                  CHAPTER SIX

They  had  been trading  now  for  three  standard   months,  and  their  Cobra
craft,  the  Nemesis,  was  was  scarcely  recognisable  as  the tomb-place  of
Trader Henry Bell. With new insignia, new welding, new colour and the pods  and
swellings of the armaments housings, it began to look like a fighter.
    Three months a trader.  And not  for  one  hour  of one day of those months
had Alex forgotten the reason behind this  way  of life. Something - someone  -
disguised as a trader had killed his father,   and done it's best to kill  him.
His father had led a double life,   and  according  to the oldest relic  in the
Galaxy, had deputised his son to follow in his star path.
    Alex Ryder was not about to fail his father in that wish.
    There were so many questions,   so  much  grief,   so much anger.  And  for
Elyssia  too, although the  Teorgeon  woman  rarely  showed  the  emotion  that
Alex sensed was bubbling  just  below  the  surface  of her cool, wise-cracking
exterior.
    They  were facing a  task  together,   a  task   of  growing,  of  becoming
strong.  There would have to  be  a  time  of  waiting, and both were accepting
that time with as much silent patience as they could muster.
    But it was not easy, not easy for wither of them.
    And for Alex, with blood on his hands at last ... not easy at all ...
    The skirmish with the two  pirate  ships  had  scraped the paint a  little,
and  loosened  several  hull  plates,   necessitating  a  trip   to  a  service
station  where,  because of  their  bounty  hunting,   the  work  would  almost
certainly be performed free  of  charge.   Though  this  had been Alex's  first
solo  combat,  it  had  not  been  their  first   battle.  Elyssia  would  have
qualified for 'dangerous' status had  she  been  eligible  for  a rating. As it
was,  her rating - on  the  evidence  of  the  Nemesis's skirmishing - had been
assigned  to  Alex.  Now,  for  the  first  time,   Alex  felt he had  taken  a
substantial   step  towards   proving   that   he   genuinely   deserved   that
particular classification.
    Still  at  the astrogation  console,   he  guided  the  ship  to  within  a
thousand kilometres of the surface  of  the  dying  world,   so close that  the
planet  filled  everything  in  the  forward  vision   screen.   At  dead  slow
approach speed he finally  looped  around  and  there,   slowly spinning before
them - a glittering metal cube  -  was  the  space  station,  its access bay, a
wide rotating mouth.
    'Oh  for a  docking computer  ...'  Alex  murmured  as he  began  to  match
rotation and slowly approached.
    'Waste of money ...' Elyssia  chided.   'If  you  can't dock without losing
your paintwork, you shouldn't be in space.'
    Alex was a great flier.  But  snaking  neatly  into  the reception bay of a
Coriolis station was his greatest weakness.
    He made it,  though,  and  once  inside  the  vast hanger  space,  magnetic
traction drew the Nemesis slowly to a vacant berth.  AutoCom links  snaked  out
and  clamped   to  its  hull.   Alex  watched  the  bustle   in   this   great,
brightly-lit void,  the  customs  ships,   the  police  Vipers, the advertising
modules, the repair modules, all moving slowly in the  cube-space, touting  for
business.  Elyssia hid in the escape pod  as usual.  Alex declared  his  cargo,
and received confirmation of  his  bounty  killings,  and  notification  of his
bonus: thirty credits!
    That exactly covered the cost of a new missile.
    When all the  check-ins,   log-ins  and  identity  verifications  had  been
run,  Elyssia emerged from  hiding.  The  escape  capsule  had been their first
priority,  and  they had  bought  one  second  hand  for four-hundred  credits.
They  didn't  intend  to  use  it  anyway,   except  to  screen  off  Elyssia's
unfortunate and unwelcome origins.
    Now began the routine  of  business.   Selling,   then  deciding  where  to
trade next, and what to buy to take with them.
    Trading  is very much  a  hit  and  miss   profession.  With  certain  high
demand, high turnover products,  a  small  profit  can  usually be guaranteed -
foodstuffs, textiles, simple machinery, simple luxuries.
    But the ship's running  costs,   and  an  occasional  space  skirmish,  can
soon eat up such  profits,  making  the  whole  exercise essentially worthless.
There  is no way  of  knowing  trade  prices  at other  systems.Each  planetary
state jealously guards  its  stock-market  information,   and  there are  heavy
penalties for faxing the market prices of any item beyond orbit-space.
    Prices change,  too.  Speculators  lurk  in  every  system,  no matter  how
poor.  that  tonne  of  frozen  bladderlash  that  would   have  fetched  eight
credits a month ago on  Ceinzala,  against  a  buying  prices of three from its
homeworld  Reorte,  will  suddenly   be  worth   only   two.   The  demand  for
bladderlash had not lessened.  The speculators have made a secret killing,  and
fixed up the market.
    Hit and miss.
    Alex and Elyssia had been  lucky  so  far.   they had carried Vargorn mind-
silk  between Rexebe and  Inera  and  doubled  their  initial hundred  credits.
They  had ferried gold-flakes  of  Geretean  reptiles  and  only  just  covered
their  costs.  They had  supplied  twenty  tonnes  of  sunflower seeds  to  the
grotesque amphibioid inhabitants of  Bierle,   to  who  sunflower  seeds were a
particular delicacy,  only to  find  that  a  mass,   mind-induced mutation had
occured throughout the  entire  planetary  population,   changing  their  taste
buds  ...  The  search  was  now  on  for  the  new  delicacy  to  delight  the
palates  of the Bierleans.   Lubrication  oil  had  come  close,  and  lavender
scented  tissue paper.  But somewhere there was a real profit to be  made.  One
day. One year.
    Moving machinery from  high-tech  worlds  to  middle-tech  worlds was  also
unexpectedly  profitable,  and   demand   for  luxuries  was   always  high  on
evolving industrial worlds.  But  on  Xezaor  the  Shanaskilk  furs (bought  at
thirty  galactic  credits the tonne)  were  likely  to  be  at their  best  bet
yet. Alex nervously called up the buying price at Xezaor.
    He whooped with triumph as he  saw  that  he  and Elyssia had tripled their
money.
    This time, in the hit and miss game, they had hit lucky.
    They sold the furs without trouble.  Then Alex called up the price list  at
Xezaor  of   ship  and  armaments  equipment.   The   new   missile   was   the
standard thirty credits.  He ordered  one  and  a  small  robot scuttled off to
fetch the permitted weaponry.  Beam lasers were one thousand credits,  and  the
temptation  to invest in one was  strong.   The  price of the  fuel  and  cargo
scoop which the Nemesis  so  badly  needed  was  extortionately high,  at  five
hundred and twenty-five credits. But an energy bomb cost nearly twice  as much!
    Of course a fuel scoop could  be  used  for  salvage, as well as topping up
their fuel  banks by sun-skimming.  so it was a good investment,  even  at  one
hundred credits over the odds.
    Alex  ordered  one.  Delivery  and  fitting  would  take  twenty  hours,  a
standard day.  Alex fuelled  the  ship,   next,  and  stocked up with Xezaorian
delicacies.
    They had three hundred and twenty galactic credits left with which  to  buy
trade stock,  an uncomfortably  low sum. On the other hand, their ship  now had
extra defensive shields, four-directional  targetting  of lasers and  missiles,
an anti-missile system and a fuel scoop.
    They were more than half way to becoming a battle cruiser.
    Elyssia  scanned  the planet's  market  list  with   Alex.   For  all  that
Xezaorians  liked exotic things,   they  had  precious  little  to  offer.  Two
narcotics were available - arcturan burstweed and,  strangely,  tobacco  -  and
Alex thought hard about them.
    'Surely we could get away with tobacco ...'
    'Uh-huh.' Elyssia murmured.  'No  way.   Nicotine  is  deadly,  even in low
doses, to many races.'
    'If we carried it to a human world?'
    'Still too risky.'
    Minerals were on offer,  but  were  pricy.   Durassion  -  one of the  ores
that  could  be refined  and  'time-stressed'  to  give   duralium  for  ship's
hulls  -  was available at  eight  credits  the  tonne,   and that  would  sell
exceptionally well at Lave ...  but Lave was many light years  away,  now,  and
any dura-ore could bottom-out on a  standard  day  when  a new richer  ore  was
found.
    Too risky.
    Gemstones?  there were maroon  and  silver  spectonals  for sale,  and red-
green  emeronds.  A  pirate  convoy  would  smell  such  booty from  two  light
years away.
    As  for  the   curiousity  market   there   were   two  hundred  fossilised
Dironothaxaurian life-bones on offer, at forty credits each.
    'Ever heard of them?' Elyssia asked.
    Alex said,  'I've seen one. And  heard  one.  In  a museum on my homeworld.
they  sing.  They're over  forty  million  years  old,   and still  they  sing;
waiting for something,  a  hatching,   or  a  change  of climate. They're bones
from  the pelvic region,   so  they  could  be  incubation pods.  Nobody  knows
...'
    'Are they valuable?'
    'Very. Exactly by how much I don't know.'
    'Check it for restrictions ...'
    Alex did so.  There  were  no  known  import   restrictions,  or  potential
legal violations involved in trading in these fossilised animal bones.
    'Better than food - ' Alex said.
    'Any day,' Elyssia agreed.
    'So we go for it ...'
    'I suppose so.'
    But as Alex began to key into the trade-centre to purchase the  goods,  the
console flashed the words, 'Incoming message ...'
    'Rafe!' Alex  said.  And Elyssia  too  seemed  excited  at the prospect  of
seeing and talking with Rafe Zetter again.
    But it was not the wizened,  crusty  old  space  trader who appeared on the
screen as Alex accepted the call.
    Nothing like.
    It was a human being,   and  not  a  humanoid  alien that faced  them.  But
what had happened to its face was  beyond description. there were many ways  to
change  ordinary human looks to nightmarish  caricatures of  the  same:  flying
too  close to certain stars,  being  exposed  to  the  interstellar  vacuum too
often,  working in certain ore and mineral mines ...  But Alex,  as  he  stared
at the lumpy,  grey swellings that   swathed   this  person's  flesh, could not
imagine what grotesque disaster had befallen the caller.
    Lips like quivering gossamer wings  trembled  in  the  grey flesh.  A hand,
skeletal and crippled, shot through with bright red blood vessels, touched  the
wispy  ginger hair that grew in a bizarre floral  circle  around  the  deformed
head.
    'Are you Ryder?'
    The voice, at least, was normal. And male.
    'Identify yourself, caller.'
    Ignoring the question the  other  man  went  on,   'What're you trading  in
this time? Minerals? Specialities?'
    'What's it to you?'
    'Whatever it is you're thinking of buying, I can do you a better deal.'
    'I wouldn't trade with you if I was running hot from a supernova.'
    The human grinned (or so it seemed).
    'Rafe Zetter would. How come you're so fussy?'
    'You know Rafe?' Alex  asked,   perturbed  and  puzzled  by  the  grotesque
man's invocation of the friendly name.
    'Me  and  half the  Universe.'  The  deformed  man  leaned  closer  to  the
monitor. his features filled the screen totally. 'Parasites.'
    'I'm sorry?'
    'These things.  This ...'  tapping  his  face.  'Parasites. Spider worms. I
did a stint in the pen.   on  Dykstra's  world,  and  the little buggers took a
liking to me.  These are  the  larvae,   about  two  million of  them.  They'll
hatch out in about ten years, and that'll be the end of me. I sort of hope  I'm
at a dinner party with someone I  don't  like,   at the  time,  but  you  can't
plan for these things. I don't blame you for not trusting me ...'
    Pale eyes glittered from  beneath  the  heavy,   pulsating  folds  of  grey
flesh.  'But don't judge by  appearances.   Alex  -  it  is Alex,  isn't it?  I
mean, for hell's sake tell me if I've got the wrong number ...'
    'I'm Alex Ryder.'
    'And I'm Patrick McGreavy.  I'll say just two things to you.  the first  is
this: when you kill the snake, you'll  lay  a ghost that's haunted me for  more
than five years. I'm not a  flier.  What  I  am doesn't matter. There are  more
people  like me than all  the  sunflower  seeds  you've traded  in  your  life.
People who need vengeance.  People who  can't  do it for  themselves.  Kill the
snake and you'll do a service to us all.'
    Alex couldn't help the wry  smile  that  touched  his lips,  even though he
had rarely felt less like  smiling.  He  felt  as  if he were being manoeuvred,
manipulated,  like  a  robot  ship,   an  autoremote,   programmed  to  fly  in
endless,  mindless  circles.  What   the  hell  was  going  on?  He  was  jason
ryder's  son,  and until  three  months  ago  his  best combat  experience  had
been  in a SimCombat  trainer.   His  pilot's  license  had hardly  dried.  And
somehow,  despite  all of this,   he  had  been  chosen  as nemesis to exact  a
savage  vengeance from a ship that was certainly far more than a simple  -  and
simply deadly - pirate.
    There  were  people watching  him,   and  waiting  on  him,  their  fingers
crossed, their breath held.
    Why him? Why him? (and Elyssia ...)
    'Okay,' he said quietly. 'I get the message. You said "two things".'
    'Right.  Rafe told you to trade  in  Shanaskilk  fur,  as soon as you could
afford it. Am I right?'
    He was right.  It was one  of  Rafe's  last  pieces of advice to Alex,  and
Alex had not forgotten it.
    McGreavy went on,  'When Rafe told  you  to  do  that he was sending you to
me. You've got to get an  iron  ass.  You've  got  to trade in something really
worthwhile.  unship and fly  across  to  South  City,   to the private traders'
centre in the Magellan Building.'
    'I've already got an "iron ass",' Alex said.
    'You think so,  do you?  Do  it  anyway.   Take  a chance. Make your way to
the Magellan Building, South City ...'
    After a moment's hesitation,   and  with  a  glance  at Elyssia,  who  just
shrugged and nodded, Alex agreed.

A  Coriolis station is nothing less than a vast city built on  six  planes  and
spread,  around the wide empty  sky  of  its  interior,  facing  inwards.  From
South City, the roof of the  world  is  North  City. At night, the lights  that
glow above your head are the lights of streets and buildings.
    Alex  checked out of the  ship's  berth  and  took  a sky taxi  across  the
void.  the  tint automatic  ship  slid  delicately  and  smoothly  between  the
incoming and outgoing ships.   Alex  watched  in  fascination  as the  towering
buildings of South city dropped away below  and the grey sky edged  closer.  To
his  left,  he  could  see  the  pattern  of  streets  and  parklands   on  the
inhabited  plane  known  as  Commander  City.   facing  the   entrance  to  the
station,  on  that particular  level  lived  the  high  ranking  officials  and
various planetary envoys  and  ambassadors.   They  enjoyed  a landscape  which
included lakes, rivers and ski-slopes with real snow.
    Below him,  the Nemesis  became  a  tiny  dart-shape  on the broad  landing
pad.  Above  him,  the   towering  offices  and  living   blocks  reached  down
towards him like geometrical stalactites.
    There was an abrupt moment's disorientation and suddenly the roof  was  the
ground and now the Nemesis was  a  single,  winking  light in the heavens.  The
taxi   dropped  swiftly  to  street  level,   between  the   grey   and   black
monolithic structures.  lights  of  different  colours  blinked  and shone, and
when the atmosphere began,   a  strange  dusty  shimmer  seemed to envelop  the
city.
    The streets were crowded here  and  it  took  Alex only moments to  realise
that  the  South City  of  this  particular  Coriolis  station  was  the  'down
town'  area.   Illegal   trade   abounded,   in   narcotics,   robots,  slaves,
sensuastims,  prostitution   and  frozen   organs.   Spacers,   walked  slowly,
cautiously, most of them  still  wearing  near-full  suit,  a certain sign that
this  was the rough  quarter.   Hookers,   of  all  sexes (the  Galaxy  counted
seventeen  at this time)  and  races,   but  mostly  humanoid,  solicited  from
hovering  platforms,   ready   to   escape   fast   from   any  over-welcoming,
unwelcome  client.   Advertising   hoardings   here   were   almost  completely
devoted to proclaiming the  illicit  pleasures  which  were  available in South
City.  police  cars and  remotes  roared  overhead,   as   did  med-ships.  The
streets were alive with noise and bustle and filth.
    The Magellan Building,  a  dark,   squat  cube,  sat amongst this confusion
like a great,  brooding monster.  It  had  no  visible  windows. Lifts rose and
fell on its outer walls,   slow-moving  green  lights  that  gave it an uncanny
sense of being alive.
    Alex  had  come without a  hand  weapon,   and  now  began  to  regret  it.
Practically  everyone  -  and   everything  -   he   saw   carried  a  gun,  in
contradiction of orbit-space law.  He walked  cautiously through the crowds  of
reptiloids,   cloaked  amphibioids,   armoured   insectoids,  squat,  bristling
felines,  and  the grotesque  robo-tanks  in  which  things  that  looked  like
giant molluscs,  or worms, or branches of  heather, moved within the safety  of
their own environment.
    He entered the Magellan  building  and  noticed  the  stench for the  first
time, the combined body  odours  of  a  thousand  alien life-forms; suprisingly
some  -  those who drank  raw  methane  gas  -  managed to excrete  sweat  that
smelled as sweet as apple blossom.
    But most did not.
    The private trading centre was a vast hall, surrounded by the entrances  to
offices and warehouses.  What  was  sold  in  this  crowded,  noisy  place, was
anything that was considered too risky, or  bizarre, or commonplace to sell  on
the open market.  The  trader  who  loaded  up  his  cargo  bay  from a private
purchase  had  better   check  with  the  planet's   export  monitoring  system
before leaving, or his reception,  at  the  other  end,  might be a little more
violent than he'd expected.
    Alex scanned the high walls  for  a  hint  of McGreavy's warehouse.  As  he
did so, he found  himself  standing  behind  two  tall, violent-looking insect-
forms, their bodies armoured in light  grey, their facetted eyes swivelling  to
stare at him as they talked together,  chelicerae clashing and clacking  in the
peculiar mode of communication.
    Alex stepped away,  heart  beating,   blood  rushing  to his head. Compound
eyes, jointed limbs, head antennae, double cutting jaws ...
    Thargoids!
    Here, on a space station!
    Thargoids were deadly.   Thargoid  spacers  had  their fear-glands removed,
and  were  considered  to  be  the  most  effective  and  potent  of  mankind's
enemies.  The bounty for killing a Thargoid was huge,  and for  capturing,  and
delivering  the  juvenile form,  the  Tharglet,  to  any  Space  Navy  research
centre, even greater.
    What were they doing here?
    The Thargoids  chatted together  and  watched  Alex  coldly.  Alex  noticed
that  each  had an  appendage  resting  on  its   thoracic  plate,  where  they
holstered their hand-lasers.
    'Back off,' a voice  whispered,   and  Alex  turned.  McGreavy stood  there
blinking through his deformities.   Alex  had  not  grasped  how short the  man
was; he only came up as far as Alex's chest.
    'Thargoids ...' he whispered.
    'Bullshit,' McGreavy said,   and  dragged  Alex  away.  'They're Oresrians,
and  the one thing that can make an Oresrian deadly is being confused  the  way
you've just confused them,  with  their  deadly  enemies the  Thargoids.  Check
the thorax markings and the shape of the fourth joint on each  hind  leg before
you jump to conclusions again ...'
    Alex followed McGreavy gratefully, away from the whispering insects.
    McGreavy's warehouse was small,   cramped  and  smelly.   Alex followed him
through into the dimly lit  interior,   and  felt  a  pang of discomfort as the
grotesque  little  man closed  the  doors  behind   them.   In  several  large,
transparent crates,  peculiar creatures shuffled and murmured,  excited at  the
sudden disturbance.
    'Are these what you have to  offer?'  Alex  asked  in a low voice. McGreavy
chuckled. he walked over to  the  nearest  crate  and  brought up the light, to
illuminate more clearly the odd creature within.
    Alex stared.  The creature was vaguely familiar, but the memory refused  to
come. It had  a  thick  shell,  patterned  neatly,  and  limb  holes at regular
intervals  around this bony  house.   For  the  moment  the beast was  securely
hidden within its protective environment.
    'What are they?'
    'Mymurths,' McGreavy said.  'If  they  seem  familiar  its because  they're
astonishingly like an animal of  Old  Earth:  the  tortus,  as I believe it was
called.  These  things  have   two   heads,   four   legs,   and  two  anterior
organelles that seem to serve  no  purpose.   They're  named  for the planet of
their origin. Mymurth. But  you'll  be  shipping  them  to Cirag. The Ciragians
have a special relationship with the Mymurth.'
    'They eat them?' Alex guessed.
    'They  worship them,' McGreavy  corrected  with  a  twitch  of  his  flimsy
lips.
    'Worship?'
    McGreavy nodded. 'To the Cirag race, the Mymurth are the reincarnations  of
gods.  A particular sort of  god,  called  an  'avatar'.  The animal form of  a
god.  The   Mymurth   look  very  like  the  legendary   avatars   of  Ciragian
religion and mythology. They're  from  another  world,  of  course, and have no
connection  with Cirag at all.   But  any  Ciragian  family  will give a  small
fortune to have a living Mymurth in its temple.'
    Alex was fascinated and  intrigued.  The  bulky  creatures moved sluggishly
about,  their  fleshy pink  limbs  emerging  from  the  shells to  propel  them
through the slush that filled their cages. 'How much is a small fortune?'
    'Each of these will fetch  a  hundred  credits.   Maybe  more.  And i  have
twenty-eight.  twenty-eight  hundred   credits.   that'll  but   you   all  the
shields and weaponry you need ...'
    'Why not trade them yourself?'
    McGreavy  laughed sourly.  'With  my  record?   You  must   be  joking.  No
thanks.  It  takes  me  half a  standard  year  to  get  a pen  full  of  these
things,  and  Rafe  Zetter  usually  has  a  customer   for  me,  someone  like
yourself who needs credit fast,   to  perform  a  certain  act ...  of violence
...'
    Alex  found  himself staring  at  the  bright  eyes  of  the  hideous  face
before him. He was no  longer  overly  concious  of  the deformities, or of the
pulsating life that existed just below the  man's skin.  He was aware  only  of
the fact that he wanted - needed  -  to  trust this aquaintance of Rafe's,  and
yet didn't.
    'Make me an offer I  can't  refuse,'  McGreavy  said,  and hard reality hit
Alex again.
    He said, 'Three hundred.'
    McGreavy chuckled  and shook his  head.   'The  idea  is that you make  the
profit.  You  won't do that  offering  me  three  times  what you're likely  to
make for a Mymurth.'
    'I meant ... three hundred for the lot.'
    For a second McGreavy stood  in  silence,  staring  at the younger man. 'Is
this a joke?'
    'No joke.  I have three  hundred  credits  in  the  world.  You've got  the
wrong boy, McGreavy.'
    'You just sold a cargo load of Shanaskilk fur!'
    'And bought  weapons and a fuel  scoop.   I  bought  the furs at a loss  to
begin with. I'm no trader  McGreavy.  I'm  a  combateer.  I did tell you.' Alex
looked down at the Mymurth. 'I'll buy eight off you. How's that?'
    'I sell  the lot,  or not  at  all.   I  want fifteen hundred  credits  for
them. Rafe said you'd come through ...'
    'Rafe was wrong. Shift them through some other sucker ...'
    Alex  turned to go.   McGreavy's  whimper  of  panic  was almost  funny  to
hear.  'I  save these things up  for  Rafe.   Who  else  is going to  trade  in
Mymurth?'
    'I'll take ten off your  hands,   for  three  hundred credits. The more you
stall, the less I'll offer.'
    Alex was enjoying this.
    'I need to shift the lot. To Cirag.'
    Where was Cirag, Alex wondered. It was not a name that rang any bells.
    'Then you'll  have to trust  me,'  he  said.   'Like you trust  Rafe.  I'll
give  you a down payment of three hundred  against one third of what I  get  at
Cirag. I'll come back and pay you off.'
    McGreavy stared at him  in  silence;   the  man's  breathing was  laboured.
'One third will hardly cover my outlay. Fifty percent.'
    'Forty percent,' Alex said. 'And no further bargaining.'
    The  Mymurth shuffled  anxiously.   McGreavy  shrugged   with   defeat.  He
summoned the vid-witness,  and  the  two  men  signed  the  agreement.  Twenty-
eight  Mymurth  for sale to  Cirag,   forty  percent  of  the  proceeds  to  be
returned to Pat McGreavy at South City, Coriolis 7, Xezaor.
    If McGreavy was right, and  the  money  was  forthcoming from the religious
nutcases on Cirag ...
    Where was Cirag?
    ...  The Nemesis could  be  equipped  with  beam  lasers,  extra  missiles,
extra shield energy units, and  an  energy  bomb,  and  the hunt could begin in
earnest.
    Alex returned to his ship to report the day's trading.



                                 CHAPTER SEVEN

They had been set up, of course.
    And in a way,  they went  into  the  set-up  gamely. Alex checked up on the
planet  Cirag  and  discovered  that  it  was  not  listed  with  the  Official
Planetary Register. That was the  reason  for  its  unfamiliar  name. Not to be
registered was not in  itself  unusual.   Only  inhabited  worlds were  listed.
There were millions of uninhabited star systems of use to  miners, traders  and
explorers,   which  could  only  be  located  by  reference  to  the   Galactic
Gazatteer of Worlds.
    But Cirag was inhabited by intelligent beings.
    That meant just one thing:   Cirag  was  an  independant world, had refused
Federation Status,  was dangerous,  probably deadly, most likely the haven  for
freebooters and criminals,  and almost certainly a system in which the  general
principle of 'laser first, talk second' was applied.
    'We've got to be crazy ...' Elyssia said.
    Alex agree,  'Could Cirag be  Raxxla?   Could  it  be  the world my  father
mentioned before he died?'
    'No way.  Cirag is Cirag,  and  Raxxla  -  if  it  exists - is  in  another
Galaxy; you know the legends. Cirag  is  just  a  hell-hole  of a world, by the
sounds of it. Give the guy his turtles back. Let's trade life-bones.'
    But Alex said no. Something about  the  whole  deal,  about the way he felt
manipulated,  guided,  had whet  his  appetite  for  this  venture.  There  was
good  money  to be made,   and  the  Nemesis  could  finally  equip  itself  to
perfection.
    And the hunt could begin. Vengeance could begin.
    'It's hit or miss,  right?   And  in  Rafe's  eloquent language,  we'll not
know a goddam about any failure.'
    'We've got to be crazy ...' Elyssia repeated.
    'Let's not talk to any strangers, at least ...'

Out of Witch-Space.
    The planet Cirag floated before  them,   a  pastel  yellow world,  the dark
markings upon its surface  -  mountains,   probably,   or  deserts - forming  a
pattern that reminded Alex of bones.  At nineteen light years from Xezaor,  the
Nemesis had made two refuelling stops,   and  as  they came  into System  Space
they had energy enough for  a  two-light-year  jump only.  The  nearest  world,
Alex knew, was more than twice that distance away.
    No  matter.  With their  new  fuel  scoop  they  would simply  transit  the
sun's corona, and recharge the fuel cells.
    Cirag's sun was a large,  yellow star,  old, but with much life left in  it
yet.  It was active,  too.  As Elyssia  - at the astrogation console  -  turned
towards it, so two immense streamers  of  fire were erupting from its  surface,
whirlpools of plasma that  were  spectacular  when  seen  through the  Nemesis'
polarising filters.
    'Let's  catch some of  that  heat,'  Elyssia  said,   and punched  for  top
speed. The Nemesis surged forward.
    But they flew for no more than a minute.
    'Holy Mother of the Stars!'
    Alex stared at the scanner  screens  and  felt  his stomach turn over.  The
bright  marks there were so  large  that  they  could  only be Boa or  Anaconda
class  cruisers.  They  had  formed  an  attack  pattern,   four  large  ships,
surrounded by the darting points of light that was its fighter escort.
    On the viewscreen, against the  glowing  sun,  the  assault group were dark
smears, rapidly closing.
    'Boas,' Elyssia said.  'They're set up as fighter cruisers, by the look  of
it. At least they're slow. Hang on ...'
    Alex gripped his seat,  then grimaced  as  he  fell  for the same trap that
his  father had always set for  him.   But  this  time  it was as well that  he
secured himself.  The  universe  shifted;   his  body  organs did  somersaults.
Elyssia feigned an escape loop,   and  the  fighters  -  Mambas by the looks of
them - broke formation and went into the scatter mode that meant  pursuit.  But
Elyssia  completed  the loop to come  full  back  against  the  looming  pirate
craft.
    She sailed under the belly of the leader   with as much calm and  cheek  as
you please. It belly-shot at them, and she  rolled the Cobra so that she  could
side-strafe back. All along  the  Boa's  under-belly,  shards  and sparks  flew
brightly where the shields were lowered around the laser housings.
    'Markings are unfamiliar ...' Alex  said.  There  had  been black and green
flags with bright sunbursts  on  them,  and  non-terrestrial  ideographs on the
sides.
    'Intentions very familiar ...'  Elyssia  breathed.   Behind  them,  two  of
the Mambas were closing fast.  Pulses of laser fire made eerie streaks  in  the
dark circle of space around the glowing sun ahead of them.
    The  huge ships had  turned  too,   and  were  accelerating  towards  them.
Elyssia made it clear,  without speaking, that they'd never reach the star  and
have time to refuel.  Alex,  never taking his eyes from the  scanners,  knew as
much.
    Elyssia rolled the Cobra and turned to fight.  She targeted a  missile  and
dispatched it on the turn, and  the  nearest  fighter became a glittering  dust
cloud.  The other streaked fire across  the forward shields,  and  the  Nemesis
shuddered and whined.  Two stabs of her finger on  the  side-fire  button,  and
the second mamba tumbled,  its shield  still  up,  its  pilot  disorientated by
the unexpected hit. Elyssia closed in for the kill.
    Killed.
    On of the Boas loomed  large  from  the  darkness.  It was rolling  slowly,
and beams of light played  from  its  spike  nose.  Elyssia targeted a missile.
Sweat  ran freely from her  face,   and  her  hands  were white  with  tension.
Alex,  feeling helpless,  gripped  the  sides  of  his  chair, leaning forward,
jumping  and  starting   in  sympathy   with   every   sudden  movement,  every
avoiding action.
    The Boa ECM'd the missile  before  it  had  gone  a tenth of  the  distance
between the two ships. the  Nemesis  slid  smoothly  along  its belly and again
turned  side  on,  strafing   the  sensitive  underparts  as   it  matched  the
giant's slow roll.
    And then it happened.   From  somewhere,   out  of nowhere,  pulsing  laser
fire  made a direct aft hit on them.  the Nemesis shuddered and  stuttered  and
was forced  into  a  rapid,   dizzying  roll.   Alex  swore,  feeling  his body
wrenched by the seat harness.   The  shock  had  nearly  taken his head off. He
straightened up,  assessing the situation:  there were two Mambas  behind,  and
they were closing rapidly on the maw of  an Anaconda; it hovered  there  in the
void, like a giant net waiting to swallow them.
    'Let's see you get out  of  this  ...'  Alex  said loudly,  and glanced  at
Elyssia to see why she was running so straight.
    She was slumped in her  chair;   Blood  flowed  freely  from her scalp  and
nose.  Her eyes were closed.   She  must  have  had  her seat belt too  loosely
fastened, and had struck the console when the Cobra bucked.
    Alex leaped from his  co-pilot's  seat  and  literally  wrenched the  woman
free, throwing her to the floor. this was no time for courtesy. he buckled  in,
stabbed fire at the  Anaconda's  ram-scoop,  then  overflew, dodging laser  and
outrunning a missile,  which then closed  on  him with  alarming  speed  before
he was able to destroy it.
    The  planet Cirag was ahead  of  them  once  more.   he began  to  run  for
safety,  and then thought  an  alarming  thought:   what  guarantee did he have
that the Coriolis station would protect  him  if  he  got  in range?  He had no
such guarantee. The space stations  were  as  likely  to  be against him as the
ships that pursued him.
    But if he could let them  know  what  he  carried,  if he could communicate
that  he  carried  their  god  creatures,   perhaps   they   would  send  their
fighters to keep the freebooters at bay.
    To his right a Mamba appeared  out  of  nowhere.  he rolled the Nemesis and
shot from his rear laser,   then   slowed  speed,  span  and strafed the killer
vessel from his port gun,   watching  the  mamba  tumble  out of  control,  not
destroyed, just dead.
    If he could only  release  the  cargo,  jettison the cannisters  containing
the Mymurth life-systems,  perhaps  the  pursuit  would   end.   He and Elyssia
would be out of pocket by three hundred credits,  but so what?  Neither he  nor
Elyssia were elite,  yet.  He might  feel  like an elite combateer,  but  faced
with this sort of -
    A Mamba strafed him.  Shields  screamed.  he  targeted  a missile, but used
side-fire to battle with the attacker ...
    - faced with this sort of pressure, neither of them could survive.
    Elyssia came round,  staggered  to  her  feet  and stared,  through  blood-
encrusted eyes, at the combat.  Cirag  came  closer.  A  tiny spinning point of
silver light winked and beckoned to  them,  but  the  sight  of it did not fill
Alex with joy.
    'There must be more than  Mymurth  in  those  cannisters ...' Elyssia  said
quietly.
    'Let's discuss it later,'  Alex  retorted,   as  he  rolled and  veered  to
escape the fire coming from the closest of the big ships.
    The woman left the bridge.  hanging  on  for  dear  life,  she went down to
the cargo bay ...
    And suddenly the attack finished.
    Alex nearly jumped with suprise.   One  moment  his  tail had been hot, and
his port laser almost  at  exploding  point.   the  next,  nothing.  The  heavy
lights of the massive pirate ships dropped  away into the  background.  tow  of
the  Mambas   continued  to  dog  his  tail   for   a   moment,   firing  last,
optimistic  bursts  of   fire.   Then  they   vanished,   streaking  away  into
darkness, away from the sun.
    Alex  slowed  the Nemesis  and  checked  damage   levels.   They  were  not
seriously hurt,  but two  missiles  were  gone,   and  energy levels were  low.
Their cargo was intact,  however,   and  if  the  pirates  had backed off  this
close  to  the  world,  it  could  only  mean  that   Cirag  would  defend  its
visitors.
    Elyssia came back onto the  bridge,   holding  the  small,  black box  that
was a thru-Vis camera.   'They  look  like  turtles.   They stink like turtles.
They're as boring as turtles.   But  I've  taken  a  couple of Thru-Vis  shots,
just to see if anything else is hiding in there ...'
    'Good idea. let's see?'
    'Two or three minutes ...'
    She placed the camera down,  sat back in the co-pilot's seat and looked  at
him. 'You okay?'
    Alex nodded. 'Shaken. How about you?'
    'Bruised, bloody but unbowed. We in the safe zone?'
    'Looks that way.'
    The Coriolis station  span  gently  before  them,   bright  with  sunlight,
casting its shadow on the  patchy  grey  and  yellow  of the huge world  below.
Several  ships were tethered  to  buoys  close  by.   They looked safe  enough.
Lights flashed on the Station. Everything gleamed, everything welcomed.
    Alex sailed gracefully past  the  immense  flying  city,   then  turned  to
face the entrance.
    But there was no entrance. 'What in God's ...?'
    He sat there,  motionless  in  space,  rotation  matched with the Coriolis,
facing blank metal.  By zooming  in  he  could  see  the shape of the entrance,
closed, now, protectively.
    'Afraid of strangers?' Elyssia suggested.
    'We need fuel badly. They'd better not be too afraid ...'
    Then the crackle of an audio  message  coming  in.  On the screen, only the
space station, with stars and the sun behind.
    'Identify, identify. This is Cirag Orbit Space.'
    'Cobra  class trader,  the  Nemesis,'  Alex  said.   'We  have a  cargo  of
Mymurth. Open the gates.'
    There  was  silence for  a  while,   through  the   channel  remained  open
because it continues to hiss and crackle. Then:
    'Attention, Nemesis. Mymurth trade in Coriolis stations is prohibited.'
    'What?'
    'Release  your cargo before  coming  aboard.   Release  cargo.  You will be
compensated.'
    Alex glanced at Elyssia. 'What the hell do we do?'
    'Sounds unprofessional to me,'  the  woman  said.   'Sounds a little  fishy
...'
    She  picked up the camera  and  removed  the developed  and  printed  film.
Staring  at the two prints  for  a  moment,   she  suddenly seemed  to  realise
what she was looking at and gasped.
    'Oh my Sweet World ...' she said slowly, and passed the prints to Alex.
    On the screen,  the entrance  to  the  space  station began to open slowly.
two lights shone there, likes eyes, tiny in the dark void space beyond.
    Alex  looked  at  the  Thru-Vis   pictures   and   for  a  second  couldn't
comprehend the grotesque sights  he  saw.   Looking  through  the bodies of the
Mymurth,  the  camera  had  picked  up  the  spider-like  lifeforms  that  were
living  inside  the   shuffling,    harmless   turtle-forms.   The   sight  was
discomforting, jointed legs seemed  to  be  reaching  out  into every limb, and
every body space.  the central  black  body  was  shiny,   and from it peered a
number of bloated, faceted eyes. Two long, bristly tendrils stretched into  the
Mymurth's brains from each of these hideous parasites.
    'What are they?' Alex whispered, and Elyssia said,
    'Trouble. They're immature Thargoids.'
    Alex felt his heart  quicken.   Tharglets!  He  was transporting Tharglets,
the larval forms of one of the most deadly life-forms in the known galaxy!
    Set-up? Being set-up hardly began to describe the way they'd been duped  on
Xezaor!
    No wonder the pirates closed in so ravenously ...
    'There's good bounty on  Tharglets.   The  navy  pay   well,  for  research
purposes.'
    'They're also deadly; and  they  make  ideal  mercenary fighters if trained
and developed. We've been  carrying  fighters  for  Cirag.  Pirate fighters. No
wonder they was to destroy  us.   They  won't  want  any evidence left of  this
...'
    Alex stared at the space station. For a moment Elyssia's word just went  in
and didn't register.  he was thinking  of  the  pirates who had  attacked,  and
who had been beaten back ...
    He was thinking that the  danger  was  over  ...   they were at a  Coriolis
station, and the only danger now was illegal trading ...
    He was thinking safety ...
    He  watched as the bright  eyes  slid  forward,   out  of the  space  port.
Behind  the  eyes came  the  bulky  shape  of  the  ship  to  which  they  were
attached.  Behind  the ship  came  light,   brightly  lit,   a gleaming  yellow
beam that cast the shadow of the ship against the Nemesis...
    The shadow of a snake.
    The Cobra!

He  would have known that ship anywhere.  It was months since he had  seen  it,
but not a night had passed when the shape  of it, when the evil of it,  had not
infested his dreams.
    The ship that had destroyed  the  Avalonia  came  slowly towards him and he
had no doubt at all as to its identity.
    And not had Elyssia.
    She sucked in her breath and moved towards the console.  'I want  him.  Let
me take the controls ...'
    'Sit down,' Alex said coldly, and Elyssia turned angrily on him.
    'I have as much stake as you ...'
    'Luck of the draw,' Alex said.  'the  pilot  of  that ship killed my father
...'
    'Killed my whole family!   We  were  escaping  Teorge,   and we asked  that
ship for help,  for supplies.   It  took  my  sister  and myself as slaves, and
blasted my family's vessel to  pieces.  I  escaped.  My  sister didn't. Alex, I
want that bastard.'
    'Too late ...'
    Fire  blossomed from the  front  of  the  Cobra.   The Nemesis  rocked  and
rattled. Alex targeted a  missile,  then  stabbed  laser  fire back. The energy
spread over the Cobra's screens like a bright yellow flower.
    It accelerated towards them.   Alex  accelerated  too,   but rose over  the
killer, and over the space station.
    We can't fight it!  We've  not  got  the  weapons,  nor the  defences.  Not
yet. Damn! What should we do?
    On  the rear screen,  Alex  saw  the  sombre  shape  of the  killer  rising
above the Coriolis station.  A  flash  of  light  presaged the warning INCOMING
MISSILE, and Alex targeted the ECM to destroy it. As he did so, he turned.  The
two ships tore past each other,   majestic  metal galleons,  raking each  other
with fire before turning and approaching again.
    Twice they duelled in this way.  The Nemesis groaned beneath the weight  of
the laser strikes on its hull; the energy  in its storage cells began to  drain
away.  In Alex's mind  there  was  only  confusion.   the  Cobra knew  him  and
wanted him and wouldn't let go.  And this was the ship he  wanted  to  kill ...
    But he wasn't equipped to kill it ... Not yet. Not yet!
    So despite Elyssia's objections, Alex turned and ran for the sun.
    The Cobra followed.  The  two  ships  manoeuvred  and  looped,  slowed  and
speeded up.  Whenever possible, Alex rear-lasered,  and this had the effect  of
driving the Cobra  back  a  little.   It  targeted  and  dispatched  three more
missiles,  and  Alex  shot them  down.   he  was  tempted  to think  that  that
represented the full missile load  of  the  Cobra,  but  he wisely avoided such
complacency.  His  own missile  remained  targeted,   ready  to   fly,  but  he
imagined that it would meet a quick and pointless fate.
    The  sun  edged  closer.   It  grew   in   size   and  majesty.  The  cabin
temperature  of the Nemesis rose.  Immense arms of plasma curled out  from  the
surface,  like weird creatures rising above  a molten  sea.  Alex flew  towards
one, fuel-scoop ready.
    The Cobra fired at him. Shields screeched.
    The duelling ships entered the realm of the Inferno ...

Alex said, 'It's working. Look ...'
    The  fuel gauge was edging  up  as  the  scoop  sucked in  raw  plasma  and
converted it to the energy form needed for Witch-Space transit. he skimmed  the
Nemesis along the edge of the great  ocean  of fire.  The arms  of  the  corona
was millions  of  miles  long,  thousands  wide,  and  curling  round,  like  a
whirlpool.  At its centre, there was a calm  place, a place away from the  heat
and danger.
    Alex headed towards it.   The  cabin  filled  with  an eerie brilliance  in
which  shadows  seemed to  writhe  and  beckon.   The  sun  was  an  unbearable
glare.  The temperature of the ship rose dramatically.  Fire played  about  the
hull, and the shields moaned and creaked.
    'Not long,' Elyssia said. At last  she  too  had  come to realise that they
were just not ready to fight  the  Cobra.   They  had  to get out of here,  and
fast.  The  nearest  star  was  six  light  years  distant,  their  fuel  gauge
showed a jump capability of four, and rising ...
    In the calm sea,  wrapped  around  by  sunfire,   the Nemesis hovered,  and
waited.  Somewhere  in  the   brilliant  glow  of  the  plasma  arm  the  Cobra
searched for them, but perhaps  they  were  safe,  now,  safe from scanning, or
from  probing,  since  no  electronic  eye  or  ear  could pierce  the  intense
radiation field of the corona.
    'Five light years and climbing.  get  ready  to  go, we're already targeted
...'
    'I'm ready,' Alex said.  He  tried  not  to  think  of the consequences  of
such a long,  unsupervised jump  ...   In  the  first  instance they would just
jump small distances,   but  they  hyperdrive  mechanism  wouldn't tolerate too
many such feeble movements.
    Alex turned the Nemesis so  that  it  gently  span in a  circle,  searching
the flickering, shadowy fire for danger.
    'Five point five light years. A minute more. Just sixty seconds ...'
    'Just thirty seconds ... we're filling up lovely ...'
    The ship hummed. Alex dripped with sweat.
    'Just twenty seconds more, Alex, and we can fly like star seed ...'
    On the scanners,  the merest  flicker  of  light  hinted at the presence of
the Cobra.  It was on the  other  side  of  a  strand of plasma;  a curtain  of
fire  seperated them.  Nemesis  and  the  killer  stood  motionless  in  space,
facing each other through the great erupting wave of sunfire.
    'We're ready to go,' Elyssia said. 'Alex. Go! Now!'
    Alex Ryder shrugged her off. 'No,' he said. 'Not yet ...'
    'Alex!'
    He pushed the ship towards  the  fire.   The  flickering,  ghostly image on
the scanners moved too. Closing
    And with a sudden cry,  Alex stabbed speed into the Nemesis'  engines,  and
raced towards the veil of  flame  and  plasma.   All  vision had gone.  All  he
could see was his father's face;  and  the  white ball of flame that  had  been
the Avalonia ...
    All he could feel was grief, and anger, and hate ...
    All he knew was that he had a missile targeted on the Cobra,  and  that  he
had one last, desperate chance ...
    The ships  closed.  The distance  between  them  was  the distance  of  the
plasma  veil.  It  played  on  the  hull  of  the   Nemesis,  and  the  shields
screamed and complained. He could not go too deep ...
    Not too far in...
    Too dangerous ...
    He fired the missile.
    The tiny vessel sped into the sunfire,  weaving and ducking as it homed  on
the Cobra.  It didn't show on Alex's scanner.  It didn't show  on  the  Cobra's
scanner. Not until it was too late ...
    The Cobra triggered  its ECM.   Alex  saw  the  burst  of  brightness,  the
sudden  detonation ...  and then  he  saw  the  great  fire ball  that  gyrated
around the destroyed missile.
    Momentum,  heat,  plasma, fire ...  all  gathered  together  into a ball of
death that swept from the corona and engulfed the Cobra.
    No shield known could stand against such intense energy, the raw energy  of
a sun,  stung  and  screaming,  blown  into  a  great  tidal  wave of explosive
terror.
    The  Cobra bathed in  light  and  fire.   Alex  watched  the  scanner,  and
suddenly ...
    The light was gone.
    The Cobra was dead. Destroyed. Gone forever.
    The Nemesis slowed and turned, went back to safety.
    No-one on the bridge said a  word.  But  in  the bright light of the ageing
sun, tears glistened on two faces.



                              CHAPTER EIGHT: CODA

The  holoFac  of Rafe Zetter  gleamed  and  shimmered  on  the  bridge  of  the
Nemesis as if with pride.  Behind it,  the full face of Lave was a welcome  and
relaxing sight.  The last of  the  Mymurth  and  their precious  parasites  had
been off-loaded into two Navy Asp-type ships.  The final payment  had  not  yet
been agreed,  but the figure would not  be  less than  on  hundred  credits per
creature.
    'I knew you could do  it,'  Rafe  said,   chewing happily and stroking  his
wispy sidewhiskers. 'Had to be  sure.  But  was  confident  to get you to Cirag
before you were ready.'
    'We could have  been  killed,'  Alex  muttered.  'That system was  crawling
...'
    'But a good combateer,  even  an  elite  combateer,  knows when to run, and
how to run. I'm proud of you ... you ran and scored.'
    And  as he  spoke,  so on  the  screen  a  message came  through  from  the
Galactic Police HQ on Lave Coriolis 6.

    Congratulations to Alex Ryder, and  thanks  on  behalf  of the Galactic Co-
operative  of  Worlds  for  your  efforts  and   skill   in  destroying  pirate
vessels  as documented by  you,   and  verified  by  on-board V-film.  We  have
pleasure in assigning you the Combat Status  of 'Deadly'. Your legal status  of
'Offender' has been negated. You new  rating  as  Deadly will be logged in  the
GalNetwork within a standard day.
    'Select wisely in battle, and be strong.'

So  there it was.  Alex was  not  yet  twenty  earth  years of  age,  had  come
within one step of being  rated  more  highly  as  a combateer than most people
would even dream about.
    He was deadly;  he had killed  the  Cobra;   why  the Cobra had killed  his
father Alex hadn't thought to ask ...  of the ship's pilot,  at least.  He  had
guessed  that the ship and its bounty  killer pilot  had  simply  been  earning
a wage.
    Instead, he said to rafe, 'Did you know the ship was at Cirag?'
    'Had a good  idea of it,   Alex.   That's  why  we sent the Tharglets  with
you.  Nobody,  but nobody - if  they're  a  tad  evil  - can resist booty  like
that.  I knew it would bring every freebooter for a light year after  you,  but
I reckoned you could handle them.   Most  importantly,   I was damn  sure  that
your cargo would bring out the Cobra.'
    'You  fought well.  You showed  the  sort  of  instinct for combat  that  I
remember in Jason. He was right. You are the man to follow him.'
    'Follow him where?'
    Rafe chuckled and shook his  head.   'You  see,   that's the big  question.
Your father was chasing the mythical planet  Raxxla. Does it exist, or does  it
not?  If it does,  then on Raxxla there's an alien construct that's  a  gateway
to other Universes,  and all that's in  those Universes in the  way  of bounty,
and treasures, and aliens, and life ...'
    'Jason Ryder was convinced  that  Raxxla  existed.   That's why he  trained
for,  and became part  of,   the  Dark  Wheel,   the legend-seekers.  I  hadn't
heard much from him or about  him  for  some  time  until just before he  died,
when he told me he'd  found  evidence  for  the  real existence of  Raxxla.  He
came  back from Deep Space  to  get  a  proper  team together ...' Rafe  smiled
bitterly.  'But  just  before he was  due  to  go  back  he decided to  take  a
safe-worlds holiday jaunt with his  son  ...  and  an  assassin was waiting for
him.'
    'But why?' Alex asked. 'Why kill him for finding Raxxla?'
    'Because there are people on  Raxxla  already.   This  is only a guess mind
you,  but from what happened to  Jason  I'd  say  it  was close to being right.
We've long suspected that a corps of elites live there, and are exploiting  the
gateway.   They're  powerful,   twisted  men.   Powerful  enough  to  hire   an
assassin to kill the threat to their dominance.'
    Rafe  leaned a little  closer  to  Alex,   his  bright  eyes  gleaming,  an
intense look on his grizzled face.
    'I've put you through your  paces,   Alex,  you  and Elyssia both. The Dark
Wheel  needs  you.  Both of  you.   But  believe  me,   what you've  just  been
through is nothing to what you face now. You've got to become elite, Alex.  And
that means a lot of training, and  lot of fighting, and maybe a lot of  months,
even years. But then the Universe will open  up  before you in a way  you never
imagined possible.'
    Alex stood silent,  thoughtful,   watching  the  old  man.  In the  corner,
half in shadows, Elyssia stood  and  watched  too,  frightened  by what she was
hearing.
    'Has  the grief gone?'  Rafe  asked,   and  Alex  nodded.  The  old  trader
smiled.
    'How does it feel to be rich?'
    'Empty,' Alex said, and Rafe Zetter laughed.
    'You'll do for the Dark Wheel, Alex. You'll do ...'



                                   <The end>


