all armed with blasters. He had to find himself a secure position before trying to pick off
his pursuers.
Farther off to his left he heard the sound of rushing water, and a plan began to form in
his mind. A small river ran nearby, cascading over a cliff and down to this level in a
beautiful waterfall. The man recalled an outcropping of rock over which the water
tumbled; he could hide in the grotto behind the waterfall and pick off his pursuer as he
approached. While far from perfect, the plan offered more hope than merely running
blindly through the jungle-and any hope was something to grasp at.
He altered course slightly, and soon he could see the cliffs rising into view over the
treetops. With an extra burst of speed he dashed out across the small clearing between
the trees and the cliffs, knowing full well he was dreadfully exposed for several seconds.
He could feel the spray from the cascading water hit his face with sudden coolness-and
then abruptly he was behind it, running around the side of the falls and into the small
grotto in back.
He finally stopped, bending over and gasping desperately for breath. There was a stitch
in his left side that felt like a knife stabbing through his ribs; he made an effort to will the
muscles there to relax, and after a few moments the pain eased enough to let him move
around some more. He drew his stunner from his belt and settled into a defensive
posture, awaiting further developments.
In the next few quiet seconds he willed his mind back to the clear coldness it would need
for the fight to follow. Actually, he was rather satisfied with the position in which he found
himself; it was far more favorable than anything he might have dared hope for. The
waterfall in front of him would at least partially obscure him from the view of any
pursuers, while giving him a clear shot at anyone coming into the clearing. Even if his
enemy stayed in the shelter of the trees at the edge of the jungle, he would be at the
extreme limits of blaster range. The cliff behind him was solid; as a veteran of many
fights, he knew well the advantage of a firm wall at his back. He crouched in the
semi-darkness of his hollow, getting progressively damper, and waited.
The stillness descended once more on the scene. Whoever was following him must have
realized the situation and halted just out of sight, still within the jungle, waiting at the edge
of the clearing for him to make his move. The game of patience began again.
This was eerie, the man thought. He knew someone was after him, but he had not had a
single glimpse of his pursuer. It was a silent and deadly game of hide-and-seek-without
rules and without free bases.
Tiring at last of the silent battle of wills, the pirate called out, “I know you’re there. Why
don’t you show yourself? Or don’t you have the guts for a showdown?”
A moment went by while the other considered his words. Then a voice came out of the
jungle-a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, yet the pirate couldn’t quite place it. “An
interesting choice of words,” the unseen watcher said. “In a way, you’re right. By your
definition, I don’t have the guts. But I think it’s time for a showdown, after alI.” And with
that, he stepped forward.
Behind the waterfall, the pirate’s jaw dropped. The man coming toward him was a
duplicate of himself, complete in every detail. The walk, the clothing, the
mannerisms-everything was identical to himself. He now knew why the voice sounded
familiar-it was his own voice, one he certainly had not expected to hear from someone
else.
At first he was too amazed to do anything but stare at the figure approaching him.
Belatedly he realized that the other him was armed with a blaster, and was walking
within easy range. Whatever the purpose of this apparition, it could mean him no good at
all; he mustn’t let it get closer. “That’s far enough,” he said, taking careful aim with his
stunner.
The other man kept coming forward. There was a smile on his face.
Perspiration was beading on the pirate’s forehead. He pulled the trigger of his stun-gun
and heard the satisfying hum of its paralyzing beam.
The other man’s smile broadened. He kept on walking. The pirate knew he could not
have missed; he was too good a shot. Perhaps the setting had been faulty. He checked
his weapon quickly and saw that it had been set on four. His lookalike should have
collapsed on the ground and been unconscious for two hours at that setting; instead, he
was still walking relentlessly toward the waterfall.
There was little time left for playing games; the pirate could not spend the effort
wondering what had gone wrong. He set the dial of his stunner all the way up to
ten-instantly lethal and fired again.
And again, nothing happened.
The double advanced to within fifteen meters of the waterfall and stopped there. He
seemed strangely reluctant to come much closer, but he had little need to; his weapon
would be quite effective within that range.
The blaster spoke in a deceptively quiet hum, but there was nothing deceptive about the
charge of dazzling energy that streaked from the barrel. There was a whiff of ozone
where the beam passed through air, and when it hit the waterfall it caused a cloud of
scalding steam to boil upward. Some, but not all, of the beam’s energy was dissipated in
the water; the rest passed through and struck the pirate along the right side of the torso.
The man fell to the ground and lay still.
The double watched the body lying motionless on the ground behind the waterfall for a
few moments, then fired his blaster again. This time he directed its beam upward, at the
projecting lip of the overhang down which the water cascaded. He kept the beam at a
steady level until the rock, unable to withstand the continual energy bombardment, began
to crumble away. A minor rockslide ensued, burying the original pirate beneath a pile of
rubble. The body was totally hidden from view.
Observing his handiwork and deeming it good, the double silently tucked the blaster into
its holster, turned, and walked confidently back to the pirate base.
“On the whole,” Lady A said to her admiral, “you’ve done a most creditable job.”
Admiral Shen Tzu smiled and touched the fingertips of both hands together in front of him
to form an arch over his chest. “You’ll pardon me I’m sure, milady, if I choose not to fully
savor that remark. I’ve learned that compliments beginning with `on the whole’ usually
have a substantial `but’ attached.”
The two conspirators were alone in Admiral Shen’s office, buried deep within the complex
of the pirate base, seated opposite one another across the admiral’s desk. Even a
casual observer could have told that the two people were neither friends nor equals.
Lady A had neither, nor did she wish any.
Lady A was not a large woman, of only medium height and build, but she nonetheless
dominated any group she was in. She had a classically beautiful body behind which lay a
soul of ice. She projected an air of calculated superiority, and coldly cultivated the
impression that she was distinct from those who worked for her. She was dressed
meticulously in a black cat suit with a tight-fitting hood and boots, and a tool belt around
her waist. Tucked into the belt was a coiled whip, and none of her subordinates could be
quite sure whether it was intended to be functional or merely ornamental.
As she looked across the desktop at her underling, she reviewed his qualifications in her
mind as though he were merely another entry in a computer file. She was constantly
revising and updating her opinions of her subordinates; she refused to tolerate
inefficiency, and the moment anyone ceased to do his job the way she wanted it done,
she got rid of him and found someone else who could.
Admiral Shen, though, was still high on her list of favored employees. He was a big,
beefy man with multiple chins and a large belly. He had a long thin mustache that
drooped well down past his chins, and braided forelocks on either side of his face. His
hands were fat, his fingers like sausages, and he had a deep, booming laugh. He
laughed often, this big man, but Lady A did not hold that against him. She judged a man
by his performance, not his outward characteristics; she had read Shen’s soul, and found
him more than satisfactory.
One of Shen’s weaknesses was a love of affectation. He was currently playing the role
of a Mongol warlord, dressed in a long black coat trimmed with sable over baggy black