best to ignore the taunts -it was obvious they were used to them by now-but there was
one among them who was tenser than the rest. He was quite young, not yet twenty Earth
years by the look of him. His long, straight black hair hung down over his forehead almost
into his eyes, and he had tried to grow a mustache that struggled to exist on his upper lip
as a skinny black smudge. For the life of him, Jules could not remember the lad’s
name-but that was not important. More significant was the fact that the boy was about to
explode with anger at the two persecutors.
Hoping to avoid a scene, Jules stepped up to Rask and Brownsend. “Farming is a lot
more demanding a skill than you think it is,” he began in a conciliatory tone. “I tried it
once when I was younger, and had to give it up. It’s a lot simpler to tote boxes than run a
farm, believe me.
Brownsend looked Jules up and down, wondering what to make of this change in tack.
Finally, deciding that he was bigger than the newcomer, he thought he would include him
in the litany of abuse. “I’m not surprised you found it hard,” he said. “Leave it to the runt
of the litter to defend the honor of those ignorant yokels.
Jules was struggling so hard to keep his own temper at an even level that he did not
notice the young Chandakhar launching himself angrily across the room at Brownsend,
murder in his eyes. The lower gravity did, however, allow him time to realize what was
happening and get set for action while the youth was still in the air. To Jules, the young
man’s body floated with excruciating slowness while the SOTE agent eyed the rest of the
figures in the room and prepared for the coming battle.
Brownsend, his reflexes not as fast as Jules’s, was caught by surprise at the sudden
attack. He barely had time to fling his arms up in defense as the seventy-five-kilogram
body crashed squarely into him, knocking him backward onto the floor. He hit with a thud
that knocked the wind from his lungs, and found that the Chandakhar had a grip on his
throat that was intended to keep air out of them permanently.
The other Chandakhari were as startled by their fellow’s attack as Brownsend was, and
they exhibited a split second of hesitation. Not so Rask, who looked as though he’d been
all set for a fight. There was a wrench in his belt, one of the many tools that dangled
there for the cargoman’s use. Instantly it was in his hand, and his arm was upraised to
deliver a blow that would smash the young man’s skull.
It was at this point that Jules chose to interfere. As Rask’s arm came up, Jules grabbed
the wrist in an unbreakable grip and pulled down hard from the rear. Rask, his body
unprepared for an attack from this new direction, flipped over backward. So slowly did
he spin in the air as he came down that Jules had plenty of time to turn around, bring up
his knee and deliver a staggering blow just under the man’s ribs. Rask was unconscious
before he even hit the floor.
Without pausing to check the results of his action, Jules turned his attention to the pair of
bodies struggling on the floor. Brownsend was writhing about, trying to dislodge the
young man who clung tenaciously to his throat. Spinning once more, Jules faced the two
combatants and swung his right arm downward in a wide, graceful motion. Despite the
fact that his movement looked casual, there was a loud smack as his fist connected with
the side of the Chandakhar’s head. The force of the impact knocked the youngster aside
and made him release his hold on Brownsend’s throat. The older man lay quietly on the
floor, gulping in huge breaths of air to his oxygen starved lungs, while the younger knelt
stunned, shaking his head to clear it after the mind-numbing blow it had been dealt.
The fight should have ended there, with the three hot bloods incapacitated. But just out of
the comer of his eye Jules caught a flash of movement, and be whirled to face the
oncoming charge of the six remaining Chandakhari. They had seen him attack their young
friend and, notwithstanding the fact that he had also prevented the lad’s head from
getting bashed in by Rask’s wrench, they felt obliged to protect their countryman from his
assault.
Jules had fought six men at a time before, and in circumstances much more harrowing
than this. But the fact that registered the strongest in his brain as he watched the half
dozen opponents charging him was that they moved as a precision unit. By all rights, six
men in a spontaneous situation like this should have been an uncoordinated mob; even
with a common purpose, some of them should be duplicating their efforts while leaving
several other openings free’.
Instead, these Chandakhari behaved like a military drill team going through its paces.
Two of them snatched at Jules’ ankles, pinning them solidly together and anchoring him
to the spot. Two more grabbed at his wrists, holding them straight out to the sides. A
fifth grabbed Jules by the waist and, with the help of the other four, lifted the startled
DesPlainian bodily off the ground. The sixth man locked the crook of his elbow tightly
about Jules’ neck, pulling the head back sharply and exposing his gullet.
Being held at all points as he was, Jules was totally deprived of a leverage point to use in
his struggles. Had he been even the slightest bit less powerful he might have been killed
on the spot. As it was, it took every iota of his supernormal strength to wrench free his
right wrist from the grip of the man holding it. That breaking free unbalanced the hold his
attackers had, and he dipped suddenly toward the floor.
With the speed of reflexes unique to the d’Alembert clan, Jules reached down with his
now free right hand and grasped the legs of the man holding his waist. One mighty heave
was sufficient to pull the man off his feet, and the entire configuration caved in. Jules
lashed out with hands and feet as he found himself on the floor amid a tangle of bodies.
“What’s going on here?” boomed the loud voice of Laz Fizcono from across the room.
All action ceased as the big man’s words penetrated the brains of those present. The
anger, the frustration, the tension that had been so explosively released was now just as
quickly quelled. Every man in the room was suddenly aware that his job was on the line,
and that he’d better play it cautiously.
When no one answered his question-which had been largely rhetorical, anyway-Fizcono
put his hands to his hips and glared into the faces of all present. “It looks to me like a
fight,” he went on, “and I hate fights among people who have to work together in
dangerous situations.
I want you all to hate fights, too. And just to make sure that you’ll all hate fights, I’m
docking everyone who was in it a full week’s pay.
“But I didn’t . . .” Brownsend began to rasp.
“You were in it,” Fizcono said sternly, “and you couldn’t have been doing it all by yourself.
Nor could anyone else. We have to stop this kind of crap before someone ends up dead
outside.” He stopped and looked particularly at Jules. “This was a bad way to start a
new job, duChamps. I expected a little better of you; frankly, I’m disappointed.
As the foreman disappeared into the corridor again, an awkward silence fell upon the
changing room. Men averted their eyes guiltily, not quite daring to look at each other. As
for Jules, he sat on the floor for a moment, stretching his neck and thinking about the
way the Chandakhari had attacked.
CHAPTER 4
The Resurrection of Carmen Velasquez
While Jules was investigating Vesa’s society from the bottom up, both d’Alemberts bad
agreed that Yvette should investigate it from the top down. Setting herself up as a target
was potentially more dangerous, but the life she would be leading in the meantime would
have its compensations. Thus, while her brother took the fastest flight possible to Vesa,
Yvette d’Alembert devoted some time to building a good disguise and arranging luxury
accommodations for herself on the plushest starliner heading for her destination.
“Carmen Velasquez would be perfect for this assignment, don’t you think?” she’d asked
her brother as they planned their respective modes of attack.
“I think all that rich living went to your bead,” Jules retorted. “Carmen was exactly the
sort of person who would be missed-not a good prospective victim at all:.
Yvette pondered her brother’s words for a moment. On their last assignment-that of