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  All in all, it had worked perfectly - nearly. The good guys had suffered no losses whatsoever and the bad guys had been wiped out - totally. But that totality was the slight imperfection in the otherwise perfect outcome.

  As Meitchars emerged from their secret hideaway, he had just two imperatives: to extinguish any of their assailants in the immediate vicinity, and to capture whatever vessel they'd arrived in - together with its remaining occupants. The first had been no problem. In fact, For-bin-Ah had virtually finished the job before Meitchars had even got started. The second however proved impossible. There should have been time to mount an assault on the cruiser - even if it had prepared to take off immediately. But the remaining members of its crew had already witnessed the translation of a number of spacecraft into fireballs. And those spacecraft were of the same specification as their own. They had therefore become acutely aware of the explosive combustibility of their surroundings - and it had made all of them more than a little nervous. Indeed so nervous, they'd ignored Simmercill's orders to wait for his return, and had prepared for take-off well before Meitchars had even appeared through the bunker trapdoor. And before he could take even a pace in their direction, they were away.

  Then their pilot removed any possibility of pursuit whether by Meitchars or by his airborne helpers. But he did this unintentionally. Unknown even to his closest colleagues, he had a slight problem that could surface in situations of extreme stress - for example, when one is waiting for one's surroundings to explode into an intense, supercharged firestorm. It was the same problem that Renton had learnt to live with: remembering which direction was left and which was right. But this pilot hadn't ever learnt the red/blue trick. And so the left bank, which should have taken his cruiser into its upward sweep and away from the moon's surface, manifested itself as a right bank, which took his cruiser into an unforgiving cliff face instead - and put an end to his problem abruptly.

  And now Renton was contemplating the consequences of this error. He was with Madeleine and his fellow knights. They were all sitting in the cockpit-control room of For-bin-Ah's scudder. He frowned as he spoke.

  'There must be some way of finding out who those bastards were. I just can't believe that they've not left a clue. I mean, it's just not possible. It's…'

  'They haven't,' interrupted For-bin-Ah. 'There's not one of those stiffs out there who's not wearing standard-issue kit - and I mean completely standard-issue. Right down to his underpants. It's all completely anonymous. No labels. No special features. No nothing. And it's the same with their weapons - standard A4 and A6 masers - as stocked by your local neighbourhood arms dealer. Oh, and all the registration numbers have been removed as well.'

  'No personal items?' enquired Renton hopefully. 'You know, photos, credit discs, pamphlets describing the constitution, objectives and leadership of their little organisation - that sort of thing?'

  'Nope,' replied For-bin-Ah. 'And before you ask, nothing in any orifice we've looked into either. No emergency tackle, no micro stuff - not even any kinky bits. Clean little whistles all round - the lot of them.'

  'Well,' observed Renton, with widening eyes, 'I wasn't going to ask that actually. But thanks for the information, anyway. And I'm very happy to learn that the job's already been done - and that it was somebody else who did it. I can't say I'd have enjoyed it at all. I mean, not one little bit.'

  'You squeamish or something?' teased Madeleine. 'I thought all Ticklers were prepared to go anywhere in the cause of…'

  'Anywhere in outer space… Inner space has never had quite the same appeal, if you know what I mean.'

  'Oh, I'll bear that in mind,' observed Madeleine. And she narrowed her eyes.

  Renton began to feel uncomfortable. But then For-bin-Ah came to the rescue.

  'They really didn't want to be traced, did they? I mean, they went to an awful lot of trouble to make sure they wouldn't be - whatever might happen. And, you have to admit it; they made a bloody professional job of it.'

  'Just how bloody professional are you suggesting?' asked Renton.

  'League professional,' interjected Meitchars. 'Although, fortunately for us, it didn't seem to extend to their battle tactics or their fighting skills - or their piloting skills, come to that. But anyway, I smell some of our own people behind all this.'

  'Or one of our own people,' added Renton. 'We're back to Grader again, aren't we?'

  For-bin-Ah shook his head. 'I still can't believe he'd do something like this. I really can't. And if it was him, why did he wait until you were in that museum to have a go at you? Jesus, he's just had a whole month. He could have ambushed you anywhere - and in far better places…'

  'But we weren't with Madeleine then,' offered Renton.

  'But why would I make the difference?' asked Madeleine. 'Why would I be such a threat…?'

  'We've got to go to Korpulund,' announced Meitchars.

  'Korpulund!?' squeaked Renton. 'Why Korpulund?'

  'Because Korpulund is where our Central Intelligence Unit is. And Korpulund is where Madeleine's letter went. And Korpulund is where we'll find everything we need to know about Grader. And Korpulund, Renton, is where our esteemed head office is. And, you know something, I feel I'm just about ready to rub shoulders with some of the noble knights who reside there, some of the knights I've not seen now for years. So I reckon it's time that I did. And anyway, I'm sure none of us wants to go home just yet. It's too early. So that's why, young Renton.'

  And then he turned to For-bin-Ah. 'OK with you, boss?'

  For-bin-Ah looked worried. Renton could only imagine what he was thinking.

  'Can't think of a reason not to, Meitch - except I hate the place. So, yes, I agree. We can't just sit around here guessing - and getting nowhere. As soon as we've all had a night's rest, I suggest we make a beeline for the old honeypot ASAP.'

  He turned to Madeleine.

  'I don't want to be accused of kidnapping, my dear. But you do realise, that if we go there, then you'll have to come too…'

  'I hope when you've had a night's rest, you might regard me as part of the "we". I might be just a Dustforce cop, but…'

  'Touché,' interrupted For-bin-Ah. 'I deserved that. I was just being chivalrous. You know - it sort of comes naturally. But sometimes it rebounds.'

  'Only joking,' smiled Madeleine. 'And anyway, what girl in her right mind would turn down a date with three super-knights and more than thirty hunky troopers in a place like Korpulund? From the stories I've heard, it's one of the wildest places in the universe. Anything you want and more. Isn't that right, Meitchars?'

  'Or everything you don't want and less,' he responded quietly. 'It depends on your point of view.'

  Madeleine looked surprised. For-bin-Ah looked worried, even more worried than before.

  24.

  That night Renton slept with Madeleine aboard For-bin-Ah's scudder. And when they'd finished and Madeleine was asleep, Renton turned his mind to a little list making. He had a few things to get into order. A few things to turn over in his mind while he had this last quiet time to himself.

  The first item on his list was Madeleine herself. He wanted to sort out what she now meant to him, what her re-emergence into his life was doing for his emotions - and his equilibrium. He'd certainly been excited at the prospect of seeing her again. But how was it now? Had the passion flared up - or had it dimmed over time?

  Well, judging by the events of the last hour - well, OK, the last half-hour - the passion was as strong as ever - for both of them. And it wasn't just post-combat passion. The excitement of the day's conflict had probably helped, but there was genuine mutual lust there, the product of shared emotions, a reflected desire, him for her and her for him. It was something that had endured their separation unscathed. Indeed, if anything, it was now stronger than ever. And it left no room for doubt in Renton's mind. Emotionally, he was bound to Madeleine like never before. He was hooked, and he liked the feeling. In fact, he was thrilled by the feeling.

 
Yes, Madeleine was all good news. Even on the blurting front…

  In their previous adventure, they had both been “hyper-blurters”. They had both suffered from the same hyper-induced condition, which causes its victims to “blurt out” their thoughts. Yes, whenever they're in hyper, sufferers of this cruel affliction simply say out loud whatever's on their mind - with no thought as to its content - or to its consequences. The result is inevitable; they all experience a very severe form of social exclusion, and most of them soon give up travelling completely.

  However with Madeleine and Renton, it was different. Their shared experience of this ailment had helped bind them together. It had still been a strain for them. But the fact that it had been a strain for both of them could only have brought them together. And it had done - more than they'd realised.

  But then Renton was “cured”. It seemed he'd been robbed of this dubious gift by his experiences on Dumpiter. Something that had happened there - and he wasn't quite sure what - had chased away his tendency for in-flight indiscretions forever. And this, of course, left Madeleine as the sole hyper-blurter in their joint relationship - to deal with the burden of mental incontinence all on her own. And this just wasn't fair…

  But now she too was cured! Free at last to enjoy the company of others in hyperspace - without the appalling penance of unrestrained utterances and the heartache this caused. And all thanks to an implant, a little state of the art implant, which was able to relieve all but the worst hyper-induced conditions. And it did this by fooling the brain at its subconscious level. And it fooled it by making it think that it wasn't in hyper. And it worked - perfectly. The little ring-shaped device, which Madeleine now carried in her body, was her salvation - and her delight.

  This was icing on the cake as far as Renton was concerned, something that made his reunion with Madeleine an even greater pleasure - if that were possible. Yes, there was no doubt about it; item number one on his list this evening was really all good news. And just as well. Because, as he was only too aware, the rest of the items might not be.

  And now it was time to move onto the first of these. Number two on his list: their expedition to Korpulund.

  Since Meitchars had suggested this destination, Renton had thought long and hard about what it would mean for them all - and about what their going there implied. And it was this latter aspect that he wanted to consider further. For implicit in what they'd planned were some very radical decisions - and decisions they'd not yet discussed.

  In the first place there was an unspoken consensus that, currently, their one and only purpose in life was to discover the identity of their mystery assailants. More precisely it was for the entire Pandiloop office to be thrown into the search for the source of some very unchivalrous behaviour directed at just Meitchars, Madeleine and himself. It said everything there was to say about how the office worked and how every one of its members regarded his fellow troopers and knights. But it also said a great deal about how they regarded their position in the League.

  Renton knew For-bin-Ah had little time for some of the ways of the League. And more recently it had become clearer still that he had something of an attitude problem as regards the Korpulund management. And he also knew Meitchars had an even greater problem with their senior colleagues on Korpulund. But now misgivings and bad attitudes were giving way to real action, action that would be only too obvious to the League's hierarchy. Meitchars had ignored orders to make their meeting with Madeleine and had made no effort since then to re-engage contact with Central Intelligence. And now the whole of the Pandiloop office had left station - and whatever fee-paying League business they'd been involved in - and were “marching” on Korpulund - with no authority, no prior clearance and no intention of being dissuaded from their cause.

  It was mutiny, barefaced mutiny with, at the same time, an implicit indictment of the League's establishment on Korpulund, an indictment that they were incompetent or worse. That, as a minimum, their security was poor and their intelligence was poorer. And that whether it was Grader who was the renegade or whether it was somebody else, their performance was well below the standards required. And all this might not go down too well at League head office.

  Renton asked himself whether this bothered him at all. And he answered himself immediately. No. It felt as right as right could be. He couldn't wait to get there. And bugger the consequences. He was back into a proper adventure again. None of this chasing shadows around the universe stuff. This was the real thing. And if it meant being a touch disruptive and a touch mutinous, then so be it.

  Item number two on his list, he concluded, was pretty good news after all.

  But item three was a bit of a puzzler.

  It was Renton - Renton as a Knight of the League. And one special aspect of being a Knight of the League. That aspect that concerned killing people.

  Renton was very aware that in terms of extermination, he was still a virgin. He'd now been in plenty of serious action where many of his adversaries had met their maker - with the help of somebody's maser. But it had never been his maser. He had fired it - but only ever as a distraction or as a deterrent, never as a weapon of annihilation, where snuffing out another's wick was the intended objective of the shot. He'd never aimed at some other sentient being and pulled the trigger. And the more he'd seen of the effect of such an action, the more he doubted whether he ever could.

  His pacifism, at the level of an individual's life, appeared to be resurfacing. And he suspected Meitchars knew this. Whenever they were in a hot spot, it was Meitchars' finger that was on the executioner's trigger. All those who had perished at the museum owed their enforced retirement from life to the long-legged wonder - as did Simmercill and the couple of his soldiers For-bin-Ah hadn't already finished off. Meitchars just hadn't given him the opportunity to kill anybody - or to discover whether he could kill anybody. And where did that leave him as a knight?

  He knew he could get appropriately worked up in a conflict. And certainly if somebody was trying to kill him - or one of his colleagues - he would become really quite angry. And probably angry enough to take a pot shot at him. But only probably. In fact, if he was really honest, only possibly probably. And that was a real worry, not knowing, not being absolutely sure that he could discharge his responsibilities and his maser when the need arose - when this involved a non-recourse transaction, a no-way-back-to-life result for the other party to the deal.

  And was Meitchars really shielding him from this terrible doubt? He didn't really know this either.

  But this thought brought item three to a conclusion - albeit an inconclusive conclusion - and took him to the fourth and the last item on his list: Meitchars himself.

  This was a real worry. It was bad enough dealing with Meitchars' despondency when that's all it was: a subdued antagonism towards the League's management, which only infrequently manifested itself in any way at all. But now that antagonism was about to be released from its confines. It was going to confront its causes on Korpulund. And that could lead to anything. It could be disastrous, possibly for all of them - but more likely just for Meitchars. He could really blow it. There was no way there wouldn't be some trouble. And he knew there was no way he or For-bin-Ah could prevent it. Meitchars would do exactly what he wanted to do. No amount of advice from either of them would stop him. In that sense he was uncontrollable. And his uncontrolled actions could have uncontainable consequences. No wonder For-bin-Ah had looked so worried at their earlier meeting.

  He would just have to keep his eye on Meitchars. It sounded really feeble, but that was all he could do. In the same way that Meitchars was sheltering him from his killing-qualms, so he would try to protect Meitchars - from himself. And hope that it worked. He was, after all, quite accomplished at trying and hoping. He'd had plenty of practice at it.

  And then he was asleep. His musings done, he'd dropped off in seconds. He was quite accomplished at that as well.

  25.

  It was point eight on the Coun
cil's agenda and point nine on its very own Richter scale of interest. Because its topic was one about which all its members held very firm views, views they might even be able to express - if Kanker let them. So far the Council's meeting had proceeded as normal with the Senior Knight dominating every agenda point, every debating point and everybody else sitting around the table. But now, for this main business of the meeting, there was to be a brief presentation by another member of the Council - which Kanker would probably allow to run its course. And then a distinct possibility of something approaching a real discussion - or as real a discussion as any at a Council meeting could ever be. And the discussion would be about “meeting refreshments”. Yes, the Council was going to be asked to apply its prodigious combined intellect to the matter of the sustenance made available during the course of all meetings held at League offices, specifically the provision of biscuits at such meetings, and whether the current generous practice of unrestrained hospitality in this respect should be curtailed - principally in the interests of cost saving.

  It was the great spherical one, Blobe, who had requested the item to be included on the agenda - and the opportunity to speak to the agenda point. And Gleeze knew why. And it was nothing to do with the cost of ginger nuts and coconut cookies, but everything to do with their effect on Blobe's equator-like waistline. He'd been getting larger and larger for months now. And it was quite obvious he was left with no alternative but to call a halt to his worryingly inflationary tendencies - immediately. He was already too fat to pilot any spacecraft the League possessed. And he'd soon find it impossible to travel anywhere - other than as a piece of cargo. He had to diet. He had to stop eating food whenever it was available. So why not make a virtue out of his misfortune? If he had to stop eating biscuits in his knightly meetings, why not get everyone else to stop as well - and why not get some credit for the idea in the process? Impress that nice Mr Kanker with his admirable cost-conscious proposals. Forget his real motives and present himself as a concerned and thoughtful member of the Council, somebody who was always on the lookout for more ways to make money for the League - by finding it ways to save money.