Lisa and Rebecca Were already on the bridge when I arrived, cat padding at my heels. Totally out of my element, I left John to his preparations, trusting to Clacks to provide communication with the bay and Henry.

Lisa pulled me aside. “I don't like that woman, yah? Why was she hanging all over you for?”

I threw up my hands. “Nothing I said, promise. We passed introductions, Reese told me a little of her history, and then we scooted aboard. That's all.”

Lisa's nose wrinkled. “Well, shes far to friendly with guys for my taste. Weird, yah?”

I shrugged. She's a pro, been stuck in that little desert berg for years, probably stir crazy. But we really need her skills. Be nice.”

Through the view-screen, the sun cycle lightened, and the Reese compound came clear. A central, four story business center crouched in the middle of the place. Seemed in good repair. Around it various hot houses, what appeared to be private shacks and a well stocked machinery yard, clustered. Between the yard and the main building was a large empty parking lot, pocked with lifted and missing asphalt. Fronting the central building were canopied constructions. Away to the north, a hanger and landing field were apparent, along with several tin sided storage buildings and containment tanks.

“So, to set down where?” said Clacks.

Remembering John's instructions, I pointed to the parking lot. “Probably the lot, not the runway. Try for an angle that will set the cargo ramp between the machine yard on one side, and the main building on the other. Then meet me at the passenger lock. I want them to see you with me.”

Clacks pulled a small comm unit from a holder in his hex command chair/compartment. “Can contact everyone with this machine. Some transmission wish to make?”

I shook my head, and palmed a little nervous sweat off my neck. “We decided not to try that. Didn't want to depend on anything Segurdson might have told us. Plan is, land, play dumb. Supposed to pick up equipment. Segurdson couldn't come himself, but everything's fine, so on. Busy with organizing. Anything else, sound confused, can't understand, sort of thing. Need to get back, yada yada.”

As the ship settled, two patched-up jeeps pulled abreast of the passenger lock. Clacks squeezed his bulk through, shook, then struggled upright, more easily than I'd seen him do at the high gravity colony.

A portly man in a white shirt and thin tie swung out of the lead jeep, followed by three nondescript middle weights in tan shirts with holsters at their belts.

Clacks dialed down his translator to a whisper. “Best, Tom-as, you do not stand between me and the door.”

I sidestepped to comply.

The heavier shirt huffed up the door ramp, waving. “Where's my boy, Segurdson? His timing is good. Some bright sombitches may be contracting out to other sects already. Some bunch already interfered with a scavenging mission today. We gotta get this show on the road.”

Relief flooded me. One ship looked much like another and these guys hadn't had time to put two and two together yet.

Clacks shifted about as much as the ramp allowed, moving his elevated forelegs around in emulation of the wave. “Not to be on board, this time. Is still organizing things at the colony site. Am to materials and machines pick up, and get back soonest.” In a inspired mood, the bug added, “Sends handshakes?”

The white shirt turned and made come hither motions toward the canopied structures fronting the office complex. Then back to Clacks. “Good man, Segurdson.”

A troop of workers emerged out from under the canopies and headed across the broken lot towards the equipment corral. “Good idea landing here. Closer to the shipment than the field is.”

I backed off and notified John to open the bay doors “in the normal manner,” our agreed code for taking up the barriers and covering his horrid war machine. The company man eyed me mildly. “ Names Reginald Reese. You must be one of Segurdson's men.”

I smiled weakly. “Just here to watch to loading, and take back any instructions you might not want to leave to Cla- the Kreeb.”

The loading bay opened, forming a ramp of its own. The rear wasn't exactly visible from our position, save for the ramp's extension. The sound of motors starting up filled the air, along with a lot of white and black smoke. Heavy equipment began moving toward it, and dust rose to mix with the exhaust created. Shadows were already lengthening across the lot. A driver still in one of the jeeps switched on the headlights.

“Actually, there are a few memos to send. Reginald flicked a hand at one of his sycophants, who passed up a packet, which he took. He looked at me again, curiously. “I want his reports, too. Its been awhile since the ship was last here.”

“Oh, of course. I'll go get them from the ship. Sorry.”

Reginald frowned, spanking the packet on his opposing palm, clearly uncomfortable in the rapidly oncoming dark cycle.

“Please.”

I turned, re-entered the ship, and ran to the bay. John was already guiding some of the quicker moving cargoes to the rear of the internally lit bay. “The big cheese here expects some sort of reports and paperwork from Segudson. I need a envelope stuffed with whatever junk paper we can scurry up, pronto. I'll try to delay things ...try to get as much loaded as possible meantime, before this bunch catches on. If I give a shout, be ready to deploy, or whatever it is you do.”

John winced. “Would've been cleaner to just have banged on the assault, but okay.” He reached under the Adagio's tarp, and fished out a handful of spec sheets that had been packed with it. “This stuff will have to do. Let's find an envelope. No, wait. I'm gonna stay here and load. Try fishing something out of the infirmary. I think I saw a clean white packet envelope in the Field hospital supply box. Think it was a case inventory, but it's clean. There's envelopes with what we're loading here, but its all dusty – been outdoors, and anyway, he might recognize what it was.”

I grabbed the paper and ran for the infirmary. John was propped up on the makeshift infirmary bedroll, watching a monitor, the call box by his hand. I took a second to ask after him.

“I'm a little faint, but doing alright, Keeping my eyes on the dock and your little party at the passenger lock. John called about the envelope thing. Better hurry. Don't want this all falling down over a lack of stationary, after all.”

Fumbling through the case in a cold sweat yielded nothing, but then there it was, stuck to the inside of the lid. A standard nine by 12 envelope. Luckily it wasn't sealed, and stuffing the extra spec sheets into it padded it out nicely. I licked and sealed it. “Wish me luck.”

“It will only buy you a few minutes, you know, and that's only if he doesn't rip it open right away. Be prepared to dodge aboard, and for god-sake, take a couple of armed guys up with you. They can stand out of sight. Keep Clacks safe, get him back inside. If we loose him now...”

Crap. Clacks.

I hustled out, stopping back at the ship's hold. Machines and palates were coming aboard at an increasing rate, the corps drivers and material handlers seemed incurious about the hold. It crawled with smaller Kreeb, who were busy compacting the drop offs best they could.

I wondered where John had stashed his fifty men. There were a couple huge box-like containers near the open Bay, that were obviously, by their hexagonal design, Kreeb built. John, busy directing traffic, but with a Kreeb comm in one hand, waved me to one of the doors that led into the ship proper.

Oh, yeah. Henry had already sent notice ahead. The door decanted on a hallway lined with armed men. Two detached themselves and queued up behind me. I hadn't been in this area before, but one of the stalwarts directed me along it to a familiar annex.

“No offense,” said one, “but even though you're the colony hero and all, Henry and John gave us clear orders. Were ta stay out'a sight and post sentry on the door. You just keep your head down if there's trouble and stay out of the way.”

Hero? Me? So, if you are in the line of fire, and shoved to the front, your a hero? Hero, goat, shield, fool. All the same thing, I guess. My mild elation at seeing something go right dissipated.

The two broke away and took station out of sight near the door, through which sunlight was already streaming again. I fingered the packet, gulped, and stepped out of the ship. Putting on a calm face, I stepped to Clacks. “The bridge needs your attendance for a minute.” Clacks reclined, then scurried backwards and whisked into the ship without a word. The things could move like greased lightning when they were horizontal. I wondered briefly if standing up was just some kind of protocol they adapted for dealing with us.

The action startled Reginald and his two guards. Both the lackeys snapped open their holsters, laying hands on the burled grips. Reginald looked at the envelope I carried with slit eyes. “That's not...” he turned and waved vigorously towards the parked jeeps. The column approaching the ship ground to a stop, and the guards rushed forward, masking Reginald. A hand jerked at my shoulder yanking me off my feet and through the door, dumping me unceremoniously on my back. A dual burp of sub-machine gun fire flew overhead and hot casings rained down like stinging wasps. A returning ricochet whined off the wall behind me.

“Roll! Roll!”

The instruction was unnecessary. I scrabbled quickly out of the entrance way. The hatch slid shut, cutting off any view I had of the field.

“You Okay?” An arm lifted me up. I felt sharp stings on both arms where blisters would likely rise, and holes burned in the fabric of my pants.

“I, uh, I'm okay.”

Better get up top. We got it from here. You can get an overview from the bridge. We gotta get back to the bay.”

I took the advice, and kicking expended casings out from underfoot, trudged off.