even he did not expect them to be able to accomplish much-not after the work day had
started like this. Still, they were getting paid to do a job and it was his responsibility to
see that they did it. He resigned himself to having his crew fall even farther behind in their
work than they already were, and followed Rask’s body back inside to answer the
questions he knew the front office would ask.
To no one’s surprise, the work that day went very lackadaisically. They loaded less than
half of what they should have onto a departing freighter, much to the chagrin of the
captain who bawled them out over the radio for dawdling when he had a schedule to
keep. The men ignored his rantings and went on at their own speed, still stunned by what
happened earlier.
Every so often, Jules would look up from his job to see one of the Chandakhari-notably
Radapur or Forakhi -staring at him, as though trying to figure out what sort of a game he
was playing. Jules pretended not to notice their attention and kept on with his work.
When the shift was finally over and everyone was unsuiting back in the locker room,
Jules was surprised when Radapur, the young Chandakhar, actually came over to talk to
him. “You saved my life out there,” the lad said.
“Rask was going to kill me, and you were the only one who acted quickly enough to stop
him.
“Somebody had to,” Jules shrugged. Open displays of gratitude embarrassed him, and
he hoped Radapur would not be too flowery about it.
“Nevertheless, it was you who did it.” The youth held out his hand and Jules shook it
vigorously. “I won’t forget what you did for me. Maybe someday I’ll have the chance to
do a favor for you.
Jules was about to reply that such a thing was not necessary and that he would have
done the same for anyone, but he didn’t get the chance. Forakhi, with a whistle and a
sharp look, called Radapur back to the Chandakhari group. As Jules watched, Forakhi
spoke a few sharp words in the youth’s ear, obviously admonishing him not to speak with
anyone from outside their little clique. The lad cast one long look back over his shoulder
at Jules, then returned to his group.
Everyone who was involved in the scuffle had to stay a little late in order to tape-record
their versions of the story for the administration personnel. Forakhi and the rest of the
Chandakhari were visibly chafing at this delay, as though they had some appointment to
go to and were being kept from it. At last everyone was released and told to go home;
but instead of following that advice, Jules chose to follow the Chandakhari instead.
They left the port building as a group and flagged down one of the roving jits. Jules
cursed the haphazard transportation system of Vesa under his breath; he didn’t want to
let his quarries get away from him that simply. Fortunately, he was able to commandeer
a jit directly behind theirs and, using the excuse that he and his friends bad gotten
separated and he didn’t have the address of where they were supposed to be going, he
convinced the driver to follow the other jit. The large tip he handed the man probably did
not hurt his cause, either.
They drove through a confusing maze of tunnels, changing direction so many times that
Jules began to get worried that they knew he was following them. But they made no
attempt to speed up or lose him on sharp turns, so he relaxed and guessed that they
were only taking a precautionary route to their destination.
Finally the other jit stopped and the Chandakhari got out. Jules’ driver had done such a
good job of staying with them that he arrived almost right behind them, and Jules had to
dawdle about getting out of the jit for fear that his quarries would spot him.
Actually, despite the long and complicated route they had taken, the Chandakhari had
ended up at a point not too far distant from where they’d started. They were in the
warehouse district where the goods unloaded from the incoming ships were stored
before being distributed to the rest of Vesa. Jules emerged from his jit as the group he
was following entered the front door of one warehouse.
Jules looked quickly around for another way into the building. He couldn’t go in the same
way the Chandakhari had, or he’d be spotted for sure. His sharp eyes instantly detected
what he was looking for-a freight elevator tube beside the building. Structures on Vesa
were built down rather than up, into the bedrock of the moon for sturdier support. Jules
did not want to activate the elevator itself, for it might make some noise that would alarm
the group he was pursuing; but the tube did have a series of handholds along its length
for the use of repair crews, and Jules descended this ladder until he came to a service
door in the wall. The door was locked, and he had to stand on a small ledge for two
minutes experimenting with the various master keys he always carried with him before he
could get it to open.
He found himself on the third level of the warehouse. The large room was dimly-lit and
filled with row upon row of the large airtight crates that he was becoming all too familiar
with. Apparently this was a section for storing goods that had not yet been unpacked.
Jules strained his ears, but could hear no sounds around him. Moving with a silence that
would put a cat to shame, he eased his way into the warehouse, using the large
containers as cover while he explored the aisles at this level. No one was here.
Now there was a choice to make. Should be go upward in search of his group and check
out the top two levels, or should he go even further down? He decided down would be
best; a group of conspirators would want to be as far from the front door as possible, to
avoid being overheard by casual passersby.
Gently sloping ramps led from level to level, broad corridors for lift trucks and dollies to
carry their loads. The ramps were possible points of exposure, since there was no place
for him to hide on them, but short of chancing the elevator tube again they were his only
method of getting from one level to the next. Stealthily he crept downward to the fourth
level, only to find it, too, deserted. On the fifth level, however, he struck paydirt.
He could hear the low muttering of voices when he was halfway down the ramp, and he
slowed his pace at once. Hugging tightly to the wall he slithered down to the floor level
and behind the protective cover of some half-opened crates. From here, he was able to
pick his way slowly forward until he had a clear view of the entire scene.
The lighting on this level was as dim as throughout the rest of the warehouse, but Jules’
eyes were by this time accustomed to the weak light. A large space had been cleared
throughout the center of the floor, and along one semicircular section of the area sat a
group of perhaps thirty men. The first thing Jules noticed was that they all seemed to be
Chandakhari; all of them had the swarthy complexion and straight black hair that marked
the racial type, although some of the men were old enough that their hair was
predominantly gray. Jules was startled to see men in their fifties and possibly even
sixties sitting in that group, though the majority of the people were late thirties to early
forties. Radapur, the lad from Jules’ work crew, was the youngest one there.
Before this group, like a teacher in front of a class, was a tall, thin, well-dressed man
with a narrow face and harsh eyes. He sat at ease with his legs dangling casually over
the edges of a pair of packing boxes placed end to end for his convenience. He had a
clipboard on his lap and he was reading casually from it: “. . . Group Three, weekly
intake of five thousand, seven hundred and sixtytwo rubles, which means Group Two’s
area seems to be the richest at the moment. I think we’ll leave Three where it is for now
and move in One to back Two up. Group Four, I don’t have your numbers yet; where are
they?.
A man at one side of the semicircle spoke up. “Pakkan was delayed at the last moment;
he’ll try to be here shortly.
The man in front grimaced. “This has been a bad week for obstacles and delays. All the
other sectors may get ahead of us.” He stared directly at the group of Jules’ coworkers.