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  'More deeply astounded, I suspect,' offered Renton. And he began to smile.

  'Well, let's jus' say "overcome"' corrected Boz. 'I think that's about spot-on applicable - as I remember.'

  Madeleine hooted with laughter and Boz chuckled. Then he went on.

  'So, I was followin' yous all around the universe, kid. You and your mate, Meitchars. Oh, and that reminds me, he and your boss, what's his name… Four-tin-star…?'

  'For-bin-Ah,' said Renton slowly.

  'Oh yeah, that's right, For-bin-Ah. Well, both of them'll know you're OK now. I sent them a message while yous was asleep. So no worries on that score.'

  'Oh that's great,' said Madeleine.

  'It certainly is,' agreed Renton. 'I meant to ask…'

  'Yeah, well, that's OK. But where was I…?'

  'You were following us around the universe…'

  'Oh yeah, so I was. An' what I couldn't fail to notice was that you and Meitchars… well, you didn't seem to be gettin' too close to this Grader guy. In fact, it was beginnin' to look as though yous weren't in the right universe…

  'But then my investigations took an interessin' turn, disturbin' at first, but then right real interessin'. An' what happened was that I was nabbed, so t' speak. Somebody had bugged my buggin'. Some bugger, if you'll pardon my French, had intercepted my interception - and traced it - to this apartment I was usin'. An' one evenin' he jus' knocked on my door, an' like introduced himself - like very politely. An' then announced he knew what I was doin' - as cool as yer like. An' then - and I could hardly believe my ears - he asked me whether I'd pool my efforts - like with his own efforts. On account, you see, of the fact that he was doin' the same as I was - and for the very same reason - for another Doreen somewhere. Only her name wasn't Doreen. Oh, an' his name is Kernik.

  'Well, I was mighty suspicious, I can tell you. But what could I do? To start with, his buggin' thing was obviously better than mine. I didn't even know he was buggin' the same transmissions. And, on top of that, he seemed a real nice guy. So, I thought - why not? Why not join forces? What had I to lose? Two dicks are better than one - as they say. Like I mean, two detectives are better than one detective, my dear. No offence meant.'

  'None taken,' giggled Madeleine.

  'An' that's what we did. Each evenin' we listened to the intercepts together. Real cosy like. An' a bit of swappin' of war stories, you know… Until one night, on one of your triggers, Renton, there was the last part of some order given to someone or other to ambush you at some museum - where you were meetin'… well, you know - Madeleine.'

  'What!' exclaimed Renton. 'That order came from the Korpulund office?'

  ''Fraid so, young soldier. An' I was as shocked as you are now. An' so was Kernik. But, o' course, there was Madeleine with a name-check as well. An' that was even more fantastic.'

  'And you don't know where this order went to?' asked Renton, his head still shaking in disbelief.

  'Nope. Didn't know who sent it either - whether it was the same dudes who'd been sendin' you your messages. The buggin' thing ain't always that smart. An', of course, we didn't know where the museum was either. I can tell you, it was one of the very worst times of my life. Knowin' yous were both walkin' into real trouble, but not knowin' how I could help you. I didn't know where either of yous were, where yous were gonna be pounced on, or who was gonna be doin' the pouncin' - or anythin'. It was real bad. Real, real bad. Hell, I'm so sorry…'

  'God, Boz,' interrupted Madeleine, 'you don't have to apologise.'

  'No you certainly don't' added Renton. 'You've saved our lives again. Remember?'

  'Well, it was jus' a bad time. I tell you, a real bad time. An' then, of course, it got worse. Your trigger, Renton, it flicked up this message to this Simmercill guy. Seemed you'd survived the museum place, but that this new bozo was to sniff you down and snuff you out. An' Kernik knew this bloke - an' how dangerous he was.

  'He disappeared for a bit then - to try an' find out where this Simmercill might be - an' where he might be goin'. But no joy. An' we were back into the waitin' game again - real purgatory, real no-kiddin' purgatory. Not that it was any picnic for you, I s'pose.'

  'We've had better times,' agreed Madeleine.

  'An' then, of course,' continued Boz, 'we picked up this message 'bout the net.'

  'The net?' puzzled Renton.

  'Yeah, the hyperbottling net.'

  'A hyperbollicalling net?' queried Madeleine. 'You mean they do it with a net?'

  'Yeah, well that's what Kernik called it. Mind it ain't like no regular criss cross type fishin' net. An' come to think of it, it don't catch you and stop you in yours tracks. It does quite the reverse. But that's what he called it. Some great expanse of energy-trickery stuff. Kernik reckoned two or more light years across, sittin' out there waitin' to catch any ole hyper-traveller who comes moseyin' along. An' when it does - whoosh! Well, you know what happens: Einstein hits the fast-forward button, an' life starts to get a lill' cramped.

  'Kernik knew all about this. So as soon as they mentioned the net - like as soon as this instruction went out to set the thing up - to a ship we reckoned - and they mentioned the co-ordinates - like where the net would be stretched from - our Kernik was off his blocks like a sprinter. He knew exactly what to do, straightaway. No guessin' an' no messin'. He was off on the job like a flash. An' that meant me shippin' off Korpulund in this here scudder - with a rescue pod up top - quicker than I could flick my tail. It didn't seem to take him no time at all to find this thing - an' no time at all to convince me to go. He jus' seemed to know exactly what to do - an' so well. An' I hadn't a clue. So I was more than happy. You know - to follow his orders, like…

  'Promised he'd bring me in on the game plan when I was space-side. An' he did. An' some good plan! He was gonna move the net. He was gonna transmit a new instruction to those casta-netter types - to shift it a bit. Like to the chunk o' space next door. An' this way your lill' armada of scudders would sail past without gettin' themselves caught up in any of that hyper-malarky stuff. Oh, and he'd worked out about how many of yous there might be - from the size of the net they were puttin' up.

  'Bit of a find, our Mr Kernik, wouldn't you say? But no smart-arsed type, no infallibility complex like. And that's why I was headin' off - in the direction of the net - in case his plan didn't work. Or if it did, but one or two of your scudders didn't quite skirt the net's new position - an' needed some help.

  'Well, seems his plan did work. But one lill' fish still got himself caught. Yous was a good way off your chums to do that, young man. How d'you manage…?'

  'I knew it,' interrupted Madeleine. She was now glaring at Renton. 'I knew you hadn't turned right with the others. I could tell from seeing where Peton was. And that's why it took you so long to get into hyper, isn't it? You had to make some corrections. Because you'd turned left instead of right. You'd gone the wrong friggin' way! Jesus, Renton, you're amazing, absolutely bloody amazing!'

  Renton was about to debate the point, but seeing Madeleine's expression, he decided to proffer an abject admission of guilt instead. It looked to be the safer option.

  'Errh yes,' he said. 'I'm, errh, sorry.'

  'God!' exclaimed Madeleine. 'Can you believe it? I went through all that bloody terror because you don't know your left from your right. I can hardly believe it. It's just absolutely incredible!'

  'I've said I'm sorry,' whispered Renton.

  'So you should be, you moron. We were nearly bloody killed…'

  'Now hush there, childun,' interrupted Boz. 'I think we should leave it at that if it's OK with you. We're all safe now. An' I'm sure Renton did his best an' all. We all make little slip ups from time to time…'

  'And some of us make quite astoundingly large slip ups,' scoffed Madeleine. 'But OK, Boz. Outburst over. Sorry. It was just a bit of a shock to realise… well, you know. Sorry anyway. I didn't mean to interrupt…'

  'Quite alright, my dear. At least we now know why what happened happened. A
n' anyway, I'm just about through. You know the rest. An' it's all down to Kernik. He'd calculated I'd meet any hyper-catapulted ship that had got itself snared at just about the point its passengers would be gettin' themselves terminally uncomfortable. I mean, he knew it would be touch an' go that I could do anythin' useful, so t' speak. That's why he'd got me off Korpulund so damn sharpish. An' then he talked me through how I could find yous, an' snatch yous out of hyper. An' then snatch yous out of space - with that there snare on the rescue pod. An' well, there was only one of yous. An' well, here's you is - snatched from the jaws of eternity an' all. Quite remarkable really, ain't it?'

  'Remarkable?' whistled Madeleine. 'It's magic. It's fantastic. It's beautiful.'

  'But maybe not something we want to repeat,' added Renton. 'If that's alright with you, Boz?'

  'No problem, young man. It all had to be done in a bit of a rush - an' you know how I don't like no rushin…'

  'More Kernik's style by the sound of it,' observed Madeleine.

  'Well, yes and no,' replied Boz. 'He moved when he had to, but he ain't no sloven at the relaxin' stakes either, I can tell you…'

  'And what about when it comes to the private dick stakes?' asked Renton. 'How does he figure in those? Is he a real one or was he just pulling your tail?'

  'Oh, didn't I say, ole fruit? If he's a private dick, then I'm a singin' nun. He ain't workin' for no Doreen someplace, an' he probably never has. He's workin' for himself. An' he's real professional. I mean, I might have to admit his skills include a few bits and pieces a lill' to the side of pure detective work. Oh no, Kernik's no dick. He's a mystery. A real mystery. An' one you might want to solve when you meet him.

  'But, of course, before you do any o' that sorta stuff, you got yourselves an appointment with some food sorta stuff, ain't yer? An' I don't know about you, but I'm famished…'

  And before Renton could fully digest the implications of what Boz had just told them, it was déja-vu time again - and time to digest another one of his famous fish pies. And, of course, it was as good as the first one. And maybe even better.

  30.

  For-bin-Ah had believed everything Boz had told him. This reptilian chap was just so credible that even the incredible bits rang true. There was now no question in his mind that there were nefarious goings on down at League headquarters. And if they'd been sending off directives to have his various friends extinguished in space, they could be up to anything - whoever they were. He was going to have to be more cautious than ever. The whole Pandiloop office could be heading for real trouble - real terminal-type trouble. And it was his job to sidestep it - or else.

  He'd agreed with Meitchars that a landing at Midi-Tempa would be a good start. It would avoid an immediate confrontation with their chums in Korpulund, and it would also make their arrival on this great planet something of a public affair. Midi-Tempa was a commercial spaceport-marina offering live-in-your-own-spacecraft facilities to visitors and residents alike. On this occasion it could also offer safety. Establishing their camp there would provide the Pandiloop warriors with a good helping of security - through visibility. The arrival on Korpulund of a whole contingent of Ticklers outside the confines of the League's own base would not go unnoticed, nor would any subsequent disappearance. They would not be such easy targets in the glare of the Korpulund metropolis - as they had been in the darkness of space.

  They would also be left with the initiative still firmly in their grasp. Whoever the enemy was, he would have to wait for their next move, and he wouldn't know what this would be or when it would happen. For-bin-Ah could choose the timing to please himself. And he could wait for Renton to join them at the marina. But first he needed to send Renton a message - and some information.

  The message told Renton and his fellow travellers where they could find their Pandiloop brethren on Korpulund - and suggested they joined them there as soon as possible. It also advised them that they should watch their collective backsides, no matter how much they might think they were covered. They were still on their own and still in danger. Escaping one assassination attempt didn't necessarily protect them from another. They needed to get to Midi-Tempa quickly - and discreetly. And preferably in a full-size scudder.

  The information he sent was about something entirely different - and it was just for Renton - in his capacity as a Knight of the League. It was the profit allocation statement.

  All the Knights of the League were partners in the League partnership. Its profits were theirs and theirs alone. But these profits did have to be shared out. Each year, there had to be an equitable distribution of the earnings of the League to all its knights, which, as far as possible, recognised each knight's individual contribution to the total pot. And this distribution was communicated to the knights in the annual profit allocation statement.

  The timing of its publication meant it had arrived through the League's comms network just as For-bin-Ah had checked into Midi-Tempa. Under normal circumstances Renton would have received his copy at the very same time, his first sight of what he was reckoned to be worth to the League - and what every other knight was reckoned to be worth. But he wasn't enjoying normal circumstances just at the moment. And sailing through space with Boz, he'd have none of this data at all. For-bin-Ah thought he should. He thought it was nothing less than vital that he should have the whole lot - and that he should read the whole lot before he reached Korpulund.

  And so he sent this information. And with the message and the information despatched, he turned his attention to his other responsibilities: his troops now stationed in the Midi-Tempa marina. And he embarked on what he did very well. He began to prepare them for the unknown - and to worry about what he was leading them into. He was a bloody good worrier too.

  31.

  Gleeze sat at his desk thinking about power. It was something he used to do all the time as a young man. But now only rarely. Now only rarely did he give it a passing thought. It was just too futile - and far too painful.

  As a novice knight he had always been ambitious. Not ambitious to become the best knight or the most admired knight, but to become the most powerful knight. So he could take control of the other knights. It was in his nature. He wanted to take charge of them all. Quite simply he wanted, one day, to be the Senior Knight.

  He had started quite well. His willingness to take on responsibilities and his desire to organise the affairs of others were soon noticed by his superiors. And he was quickly rewarded with an early admission into the League's management - initially at regional level and then within the lower levels of its central management in Korpulund. It looked promising indeed. He was already being tipped as someone to watch and someone who might be given a fast track through the management ranks…

  But within a very short time some of his sponsors were beginning to have second thoughts - and the Gleeze machine began to falter. It still looked good. Its highly polished zeal still gleamed its pristine gleam and its sparkling willingness still drew admiring glances - but it just didn't have the right engine inside. It might want to pull away faster than anything else on that super-fast track, but it just didn't have the umph to do it. It was an under-performer. By no means a complete write off, but at the same time never a real contender for the top slot. It was just too underpowered.

  Gleeze came to see this as well. He began to realise that he might have to settle for something less than the top of the podium. And he might have reconciled himself to some lower goal had it not been for his ambition. For this still burned on as brightly as ever. It still wanted to taste that absolute power. And if the engine wasn't up to it, then he'd just have to resort to some slick driving. Avoid putting the engine to the test and rely instead on what could be achieved through some smart manoeuvring.

  For Gleeze, this translated into swerving skilfully around any position in the League that involved real responsibility and the achievement of any end result, whilst at the same time employing his abilities to influence people to the utmost. And influ
encing people generally meant sucking up to them or ingratiating himself to them in any way he could - from helping them out with their own endeavours to heaping praise on their own achievements - all, it has to be said, with a certain accomplished style. Gleeze really was the master of the art of the oily.

  It worked. His career moved forward. Admittedly this was within the confines of the Korpulund office and was without any real experience of normal knightly pursuits and knightly perils - but that didn't matter. Gleeze wasn't interested in any of that. He just wanted to scale the League hierarchy. And he didn't mind how he did it. Eventually these tactics carried him to the very highest echelons of the League's management and, almost without a pause, onto its Council, the highest level of all.

  And now he was one of its longest serving members, acting as its chairman and, more importantly, as its sycophant-in-chief, as its principal calmer of its most senior knight. And that was down to his oiliness, of course. Which needed to be poured onto Kanker's troubled waters at virtually every meeting of the Council; it was indispensable. And it was now impossible to imagine anyone else discharging this rôle

  Unfortunately it was equally impossible to imagine Gleeze taking over the rôle he really wanted: that of the Senior Knight. He simply wasn't thought of in those terms.

  In the first place he couldn't dislodge Kanker. Nobody could. As long as he was in the League, it was inconceivable that anyone other than Kanker could be the Senior Knight. He was such a dangerous megalomaniac that nobody in his right mind would make a challenge to his despotic authority. It was a no-go area. And Gleeze, who understood political positioning more than most, would be the first to be last in such a venture. He'd be crushed if he tried and he knew it.

  But even if, tomorrow, Kanker got sucked into a runaway black hole, still Gleeze was not a contender for the top title. He just didn't have the right credibility. His route to the upper bracket had forced him to jettison just what he needed to have that credibility: genuine authority, the ability to make his own decisions - and ruthlessness. Gleeze might be able to lubricate the Council, but he could never lead it. And as for leading the League, something the Senior Knight's job also entailed - in theory at least - he wouldn't have known where to start. Everyone knew this. And everyone included Gleeze.