BillSmithBooks.com | OutlawGalaxy.com

A Dime for the Tip Jar! 
Like these stories? Want to see more? 
Throwing just a dime or a quarter into the Tip Jar allows me to write and share more Outlaw Galaxy stories:

Thank you! 
Please spread the word about OutlawGalaxy.com!

Email: 
bill@billsmithbooks.com

Bill Smith Books
PO Box 124
Malone, NY 12953

BillSmithBooks, Outlaw Galaxy, Outlaw Galaxy Tales and Imagination Forge are trademarks of Bill Smith. © 2006 by Bill Smith.

by Bill Smith
www.BillSmithBooks.com, www.OutlawGalaxy.com
See the Author's Note following this story.

CHAPTERS: 11-20 | 21-30 | 31-42

"Trip, we haven’t got all day! When’s that generator gonna be fixed?"

Trip wiped the sweat from his eyes and released the power-driver. The tool floated in the air, its anti-gravity generator softly whining as it held the molecular screw in place. Trip glanced over his shoulder.

Johnnie O. paced back and forth. He was a good friend but he’d never been known for his patience. He’d worn a groove in the dirt while he waited for Trip to fix the scooter so they could race it through the sand pits just west of the Cargo Port. His pant legs were caked with reddish-brown dust.

Trip sighed loudly.

"You know, Johnnie, you could give me a hand. Just this once."

Johnnie’s face went blank while his mind raced at lightspeed to come up with an excuse not to get his hands dirty.

"Trip, fixing the scooter is your job. I mean, it’s what you’re good at. I’m just the pilot."

"Well, if you were a good pilot and didn’t wreck this thing, we’d be flying now, right?"

Johnnie shrugged and looked away.

"Trip, I don’t know what to do. You’ve never shown me how to tune the thrust module or align the airfoils or anything like that. Why don’t I just go sit by our packs while you finish up?"

Johnnie shuffled out of the hot afternoon sun and into the shadows underneath a rock outcropping. He rummaged around and found a small water cylinder in Trip’s backpack.

Trip felt a small sense of accomplishment. At least he would get a chance to fix the scooter’s motor without someone squawking in his ear.

"The scooter will be ready in five minutes if you keep quiet. And this time, don’t push the power flow past seventy-five percent. That’s what blew the thrust feeds last time. It’s an old motor—probably older than both of us put together."

Johnnie smiled. "Yeah, I’m glad I found that old air scooter in my dad’s salvage yard."

Trip frowned as he studied the tangled wires and power feeds that wrapped around the thrust generator. He smelled engine coolant; it was probably leaking from a worn silicone-gel hose fitting.

Trip looked over to Johnnie and said, "You know, there’s a reason it was in a junk pile! In the last two weeks we’ve probably put more work into this thing than it got in the past twenty years."

Then Trip smiled. "But it’s been a lot of fun, hasn’t it?"

Trip tinkered with the scooter for several more minutes, finally shutting the battered yellow cowling that protected the motor. He took a step, straddled the saddle seat, and pressed the ignition switch. The motor fired with a hearty throom. The scooter rose and hovered two feet above the ground. Trip twisted the throttle bar and watched the readout dials. Everything looked good.

Within seconds of firing up the motor, Johnnie was standing beside Trip, watching the gauges and dials. Trip looked over at his friend, grinned and gave a thumbs up. He had to scream so Johnnie could hear him over the roaring motor.

"It’s ready! Want to take a spin?"

Trip slid into the back half of the seat and latched his restraint belt. Johnnie scrambled into the driving position. The scooter dipped and rocked back and forth as the anti-grav motor compensated for the added weight. The scooter rose back to its original height while Johnnie snapped on his own restraint belt. He revved the motor. Deep vibrations rattled through their bodies with each twist of the accelerator.

Trip grinned with excitement. His heart pounded. He leaned forward, screaming in Johnnie’s ear, "Watch the power flow. I marked it with red tape. If it goes above that line, cut the motor. If you blow her up again, I’m not gonna spend all afternoon fixing it!"

Trip’s stomach felt like it stretched and dropped two feet as Johnnie twisted the throttle and the scooter bolted forward, suddenly accelerating to nearly one hundred miles per hour. As the wind ripped at their hair, Johnnie made a quick right turn around a pile of metal slag. Then he gunned the throttle, accelerating and climbing to shoot over a mountain of rock nearly thirty feet tall.

Johnnie dived down the hill at full speed while Trip’s stomach climbed into the back of his throat. Half-terrified and half-thrilled, Trip learned forward and screamed to Johnnie, "This is so cool!"

Johnnie just nodded and snapped another quick right turn. As the scooter twisted through the turn, it began tumbling left, almost rolling over. Pulled over by the twisting scooter, Trip saw the rocky soil just a foot below.

Johnnie pulled on the steering handles and gently twisted the throttle controls to fire the left thrusters. Trip pushed against the frame rails, straining his neck and twisting his body to the right, hoping that shifting his weight would be enough to prevent the scooter from flipping upside down. He stayed on the scooter only because the restraint strap held him close to the seat.

The scooter’s turbine screamed as the motor fought to level the vehicle while gravity tried to turn the speeder upside down and spill the riders to the ground in a wild wreck. There was a high-pitched whine and the smell of burning circuitry and fried lubricants filled the air. The scooter skidded through the air, slowly turning right side up and finally coming to rest, the riders safe.

Johnnie screamed in victory as the scooter straightened. Trip rocked his head back and forth, trying to loosen his neck muscles. He knew he’d be feeling whiplash by the end of the day.

With the scooter stationary, Johnnie smiled back at Trip, screaming, "Nothing to worry about! I knew I could bring it back around! Hey, Trip, you okay?"

Still rubbing his neck muscles, Trip nodded.

"Yeah, no problem. Just watch the turns next time. I guess they suggest crash helmets and armored flight suits for a reason, don’t they?"

Trip stared at the smoke coming from underneath the motor cowling. "I’d better check things out. Off for a second. Then it’s my turn to fly!"

Reluctantly Johnnie eased off the scooter while Trip flipped the motor cowling open. In seconds, the smoke was gone and the burning smell faded.

"Nothing too serious," Trip said after a few moments. "I think you strained the motor. Let’s take it a little easier on this thing. This scooter probably has a lot of worn parts looking for any excuse to give out. C’mon, get on."

Johnnie eased onto the back half of the seat while Trip slid behind the controls. He gunned the throttle. The scooter rocketed down a narrow alley, racing through jagged mountains of rock. Trip split his attention between the scooter’s readout dials and the dangerous terrain that surrounded them.

Trip turned left and hurtled towards a narrow opening. He held the throttle and tugged at the elevation controls, popping the scooter over a pile of scrap metal about ten feet tall. With the sudden change of elevation, Johnnie let out a scream. Trip grinned and scanned the horizon, trying to pick a flight path; he’d never raced through this section of the pits.

The scooter topped the hill, plummeted back to ground level and bottomed out with the crunch of metal on rock. As it sprinted away, the scooter left behind a cloud of dust. Johnnie let out a loud, "Ooofph!" as he grabbed onto Trip’s belt and tried to himself tight to the scooter’s seat. Trip grinned as the scooter raced, first dodging left to maneuver around a discarded drainage pipe, and then climbing and twisting right to jump over a large, corroded permacrete mixer.

Trip eased the scooter through a broad, sweeping right hand turn, swinging around several twisted steel girders that rested on a rusted-out cargo module. Up ahead, Trip spotted at least three possible trails. Johnnie tapped him on the shoulder, pointing right. Trip followed his friend’s instructions and raced down the right trail. He zoomed up a short rise. Not able to see what was beyond, Trip gunned the throttle and guided the scooter up the natural jump ramp.

The scooter’s generator whined and strained as it rocketed off the ramp. Trip’s heart leapt into his throat when he looked straight down. They were jumping across a pit at least fifty feet deep.

Trip kept the accelerator pinned at full power even though it probably wouldn’t do any good since the scooter’s anti-grav generator had nothing solid to push against. If they didn’t have enough momentum to complete the jump, the scooter would drop down into the pit.

The scooter started dropping.

Trip hoped they would make it to the other side, perhaps thirty feet away, but he wasn’t sure.

The power flow indicator rose, shooting well above the red tape indicating seventy-five percent. Trip heard the motor pop. Under this much stress, the motor could explode at any second.

Trip’s eyes widened as the scooter raced towards the far side of the pit. It just barely completed the jump, striking the ground. The bounce forced Trip to let out the breath he’d been holding since he left the ramp. His next breath was cut short as the scooter’s front end dropped down and dug into the soft soil. The scooter’s forward twin metal shafts bent and broke off, and the front end again struck the ground. A shower of sparks sprayed out from under the engine cowling, singeing Trip’s legs through his thick pants.

The scooter careened out of control toward a pile of twisted metal girders. Trip hoped he’d be able to walk away from this crash ….

Trip yanked at the controls in a frantic attempt to regain control, but the scooter’s front end struck the ground again. The vehicle started to tumble to the left. It was headed right towards a pile of metal girders. Slamming into them could be deadly!

Ignoring his sore neck muscles, Trip leaned right and rocked back, hoping that by shifting his weight he could wrestle the scooter under control. Instinctively, Johnnie followed Trip’s lead, also twisting back and to the right.

The scooter started to level out but it still rocketed along at over one hundred miles an hour. Trip jammed the brake and pressed the throttle over and over again, trying to steer the scooter to the right so they wouldn’t careen into the metal girders.

Trip kept on feathering the throttle. He had to be careful because with the front control shafts already sheared off, too much thrust would cause the scooter to flip out of control. Trip shuddered at thought of how that would feel.

The scooter started to turn right, but not quickly enough. The anti-grav generator revved once, sputtered, and then a horribly loud boom made Trip’s ears ache. Trip felt a sudden blast of heat from beneath the engine cowling as the motor died.

The scooter was now just a tumbling piece of metal with two frightened boys strapped to it. The scooter hit the ground again and Trip heard the lower frame rails crack as they were wrenched away from the motor. If those rails completely gave way, the scooter would break apart!

Trip and Johnnie both leaned as far to the right as they could, but the scooter started to roll in mid air. Flame belched from the underside of the motor.

"Hold on!" Trip screamed.

The scooter smashed into one of the metal girders. Trip felt every bone in his back shift with the impact, but the scooter’s frame rails took the brunt of the crash. The scooter skidded along the girder, the shrieking of metal drowning out Trip’s frightened scream. Finally, it came to rest on a pile of rocks and dirt, right side up.

Johnnie O. and Trip unstrapped themselves as quickly as possible to get away from the flaming, smoking wreck. The flames flickered out. Johnnie and Trip collapsed to the ground just a few feet from what remained of their scooter. Johnnie’s face was covered with soot and dirt. Trip shook, terribly frightened. He realized how lucky he was to be able to walk away from this wreck.

After Johnnie’d caught his breath, he laughed, shouting, "Wow! We did it! WE DID IT!"

Johnnie’s voice echoed off the rocks, but Trip didn’t pay much attention to his friend. All he could do was look at the scooter.

Trip muttered, "Johnnie, we nearly got ourselves killed. All that work—all that time—and now the scooter’s wrecked."

Johnnie grabbed his friend’s arm.

"But Trip, don’t you see? We made that jump! We made it! How many other kids up at the Cargo Port—or even in all of Pennick’s Crossing—can say that? We’re the best pilots around!"

Johnnie stood. He pulled Trip up to his feet. Trip dusted himself off. Johnnie was so excited he couldn’t stand still.

"Trip, I knew we could make it! I mean, when I first saw that pit, I just knew it!"

Trip couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"First saw it? You mean, you knew it was there? You sent us this way on purpose? We could have been killed!"

Trip smacked his friend in the shoulder, pushing him away.

Johnnie could only smile.

"Oh, come on, Trip. I knew I could make it and I was pretty sure you could. It’s no big deal. Look, not even a scratch!"

"Johnnie, if we’d hadn’t had enough speed … who knows what we would have hit on the way down!"

"Hey, Trip, I wouldn’t have put us in danger on purpose. I knew you could do it—and I knew you’d never prove it to yourself unless you had to. Any good pilot has to believe in himself. Sometimes you gotta be pushed or else you’ll end up spending your whole life as just a starship mechanic."

"Don’t say that! I’m not gonna be stuck here on Karrison forever! I’m gonna be a pilot. One of the best. Someday, the two of us will be flying all over the galaxy—the Human Worlds, the Mren Confederation, Borderspace, everywhere! Maybe even the Sh’nar Dominion if they ever open up to us. We’ll see the whole galaxy!"

"Yeah, maybe. But when you doubt yourself, you’ll remember this jump." Johnnie stared at his friend. "Trust me, Trip. You can’t grow until you take a few risks. You can’t beat your fears until you face them."

Trip knew he should be angry, but it was hard to stay mad at Johnnie.

"You’re right, Johnnie, I guess. We can always build another scooter, can’t we? There’s probably dozens of them out in your dad’s parts yard."

Johnnie looked back at the smoking wreck. "Yeah, we can put together another one. How about we get to work tomorrow after school?"

Just as Trip and Johnnie turned to head back to town, they heard the rumble of another scooter. The sound of the finely tuned motor got clearer and louder. Trip knew it couldn’t be one of the older kids who went joyriding up here in the Pits. He saw a flicker of sunlight bounce off a bright blue scooter as it came into view.

Trip felt his stomach churn.

"Oh, man. It’s Sergeant Frederickson from Cargo Port Security."

Johnnie laughed. "He’s not going to be too happy to see us up here, is he? Maybe we can lose him. You wanna run for it?"

"You know we’re not supposed to do that." Trip grinned. "Let’s move!"

The two boys turned and broke into a run, heading for the nearest pile of rock. They raced around it and shot down an uneven path, leaping over rocks and scrap metal. Climbing and scrambling over piles of rock, they skidded down a short hill and took off down another narrow winding path that wove between piles of discarded junk. Several trails opened up ahead of them.

"Go right!" Johnnie O. screamed.

They turned right, but a few seconds later the blue scooter pulled into view, blocking their way. There was nowhere to go. The boys slid to a stop.

In between deep breaths, Johnnie muttered, "We’re busted."

Trip wondered how he would talk his way out of trouble when Uncle Craz heard about this.

Sergeant Frederickson shifted on the scooter’s seat and turned the motor off. He sat in silence, watching the boys. Frederickson was going to make them wait. Instead of fear, however, Trip noticed that Frederickson seemed to be eating too many glazes again. He looked like he might topple off the scooter’s seat any second.

"You boys know you aren’t supposed to be up here. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Johnnie stammered out, "Well, we were just working on our scooter and—"

Frederickson’s face reddened and his cheeks puffed out. He screamed, "Did I tell you two you could say anything? Quiet!"

Frederickson paused and let the silence linger. Finally, he spoke again.

"Look, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t care. You two can go ahead and splat yourselves all over the rocks if that’s what you want to do. But I don’t want to spend my day up here cleaning up the mess. I have better things to do."

Trip thought about Frederickson’s "better things." He pictured Frederickson sitting at his desk, curled up with a box of fresh-baked glazecakes. Trip hoped he was able to keep a smirk off his face.

Frederickson stopped and looked Trip in the eye. Then he stared at Johnnie.

"First, boys, never run away like that! It’ll just make me angry. But, to tell you the truth, I don’t want to be bothered with the paperwork today. I’m gonna let you go."

Johnnie and Trip both relaxed.

"Now, don’t come up here again or I’m gonna bring you down to the detention center. You’ll be held until your parents come down to get you out. I don’t think your dad would be too crazy about that, would he, Johnnie? And Trip, your uncle would make you sweep floors for two months if you ended up in my custody. Go home and stay out of here."

Johnnie stammered, "Uh, we have to go and get our backpacks."

Frederickson sighed. "Go! Get them and get out of here! Move it!"

Frederickson restarted the scooter and slowly headed back towards the cargo port.

"I meant it! I don’t want to see you two up here again!" he shouted.

Johnnie and Trip ran back for their backpacks. As soon as they were out of Frederickson’s sight, Trip chuckled.

"You know, Johnnie, the whole time he was screaming at us, all I could picture was him shoveling glazes into his mouth. ‘You boys stay out of here. Mmm … glazes. Give me a dozen.’"

Johnnie laughed. "It is kind of hard to take him seriously, isn’t it?"

"But we’ll be in big trouble if we get caught up here again."

"Yeah. We should wait at least a week before we come back."

Then Trip looked at his chrono and realized he was late.

"Oh no! Uncle Craz was expecting me half an hour ago! I’m gonna get it! We’d better get moving!"

"Benjamin Davis Trippany, you are late!"

Uncle Craz’s voice echoed throughout the cavernous repair bay.

Trip shuddered. Uncle Craz only used his middle name when he was really in trouble.

Trip slowly shuffled into the bay, searching for his uncle. Finally, he spotted Uncle Craz curled up underneath a small freighter, his hands reaching inside the ship’s engines. He was lying on an anti-grav work pad that floated about six inches above the permacrete floor.

Trip softly muttered, "Sorry …."

Craz looked at him and pushed several dangling cables out of the way. He shoved out from underneath the freighter. A pile of parts fell over and crashed to the ground as Craz’s pad slid out into the open. Craz dropped his feet to the ground to stop the pad, then sat up and wiped his grease-covered hands with a rag. He glanced at his chrono and then back at Trip.

"Well? What’s your story? You’re nearly an hour late. School’s only a twenty minute walk away."

Trip slowly lowered his backpack to the ground, hoping to come up with a way to not tell his uncle the whole truth.

"Well, Johnnie and I were doing some work—science problems—and we lost track of time."

Uncle Craz nodded slowly, then cracked a crooked smile.

"Hmm, science problems is it? You wouldn’t be stretching the truth a little, would you, Trip? Wouldn’t have had anything to do with fixing the anti-grav generator on an old yellow scooter, would it?"

Trip wanted to shrink down into the permacrete floor and disappear.

"How did you know?"

"Trip, do you really think Johnnie’s dad didn’t notice when your friend pulled that piece of junk out of the scrap yard last week?"

Trip blushed.

Uncle Craz grinned.

"So, how’s it run?"

"It doesn’t … anymore. We kind of wrecked it."

Uncle Craz sighed heavily, walked over and put his arm around Trip’s shoulders. "Trip, I’ve told you a thousand times, you have to be careful with those things. There’s no protection when. And from the looks of it, you found that out the hard way. You’re probably lucky to be able to walk right now. One wrong turn with one of those things and you could end up with a lot worse than a sore back and some bruises!"

Trip nodded and looked up into his uncle’s clear blue eyes. "Then you’re not mad at me?"

Craz eyed him sternly. "Of course I’m mad at you! But I can’t look over your shoulder every minute. You’ve got to learn some common sense. If you’re not smart enough to look out for your own hide, there’s not much I can do to protect you. Now, get to work. And you’d better hurry. After your chores, you have to sweep the whole floor before dinner."

"But that could take two hours! I’ve got homework—"

Uncle Craz held his shoulder firmly. "That’s enough. You’ve got plenty of time if you hustle. If you’d prefer, I could ground you for three weeks."

"Three weeks! No! That’s all right. I’ll sweep the floors!"

"I thought you’d see it my way. First, I want you to tear down the laser cores in Reik’s laser cannons. I’m upgrading the guns, so just strip the laser cores down and tomorrow I’ll modify the output tubes. Then, Thamlon’s freighter needs to have the power converters aligned. Get Brick to help you with that. And after that, get sweeping. By the time you’re done, dinner should be ready … or cold."

It was a long afternoon for Trip. The heat of the running starship engines inside the repair bay made an already hot afternoon even worse. In the one-hundred-plus degree heat, Trip often had to stop working to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

It took over an hour to strip the laser barrels on Reik’s ship. Uncle Craz was increasing the intensity of the laser cannons, but he had to disguise the modifications so that local customs inspectors or the Frontier Rangers wouldn’t stumble over them too easily. The local law didn’t like freighter pilots gallivanting around space with heavy-duty weaponry. The inspectors automatically assumed that anyone with these kinds of laser cannons was a pirate or smuggler up to no good.

Trip had been around long enough to know better. Sure, pirates and smugglers did use these weapons on their ships, but so did honest freighter pilots. There were too many dangers out there, like raiders, slavers, pirates, unknown aliens, and mercenary fleets. Any of them could attack you in deep space—far from any help—and the only way to survive was to have powerful weapons to hold them off while you tried to calculate an emergency jump into lightspeed. The Frontier Rangers didn’t see it that way. The Rangers said it was their job to protect freighters from pirate attacks. Try telling that to raiders when they ambush you in deep space and take your ship!

With Reik’s ship finished, Trip tracked down Brick, who was working in the back of Uncle Craz’s repair bay. The old labor droid stood on an anti-grav sled that floated about twenty feet above the ground. The droid slowly pushed a cargo crate onto one of the raised shelves. Nearly seven feet tall and half as wide, Brick was in many ways just like any other labor droid: He was slow and bulky but incredibly strong. The crate Brick moved so easily probably weighed over a thousand pounds.

The droid hadn’t been painted in years, with spots of bare metal showing through the chipping red and blue paint. He design was basically humanoid, with two arms, two legs and a head attached to a central torso, but his height and wide build made him look like a giant wrapped in smooth metal. Brick’s pistons and gyros clicked with each movement.

Brick was more than just another machine. Trip had known him his entire life and the two were good friends. While Brick wouldn’t lie to Uncle Craz, on more than one occasion the droid had neglected to tell Uncle Craz the entire truth to keep Trip out of trouble.

Trip called out, "Hey Brick! Uncle Craz says we’ve got to do some work on Thamlon’s ship."

Brick looked down at his friend and then responded in his surprisingly human voice, "Good afternoon, Benjamin. Earlier, I heard Uncle Craz muttering something about you being late."

The floater slowly dropped, coming to a stop about six inches above the floor. Brick turned from the controls and looked at Trip with his pinpointed, blue optical scanners.

"You know, Trip, he cares a great deal about you. You shouldn’t worry him like that."

"Yeah, I know. But he shouldn’t worry about me. I’m not going to get hurt."

Brick slowly stepped off the sled. He towered over Trip. His large footpads—nearly two feet long and a foot wide—clanged loudly with each step.

"Most foolish young men think that way. Some of them even live long enough to learn from their mistakes," Brick muttered

Trip wanted to change the subject. He nodded towards Thamlon’s freighter.

"Come on, let’s get to work. I want to be done before dinner."

Trip and Brick set off towards Thamlon’s ship, the Old Fool’s Galleon. Knowing Thamlon and his wild ways, Trip knew there had to be a great story behind the ship’s name. As they neared the ship, Trip heard a short, high-pitched squeal as Brick used his internal communications transmitter, or transcomm, to summon several worker drones.

Trip heard the soft hum of anti-grav motors. Soon, three small, boxy drones hovered into view, slowly circling Brick. The drones were cube-shaped, roughly a foot on each side. Their exteriors were unremarkable and a bland brown color. Their only visible exterior features were small video and audio sensors, and a pair of manipulator arms that hung from the sides of the small anti-grav drive. Inside each drone, however, there were over a dozen compartments holding specialized tools and accessories.

Another high-pitched squeal from Brick’s transcomm system sent the trio of drones scurrying off to the corners of the repair bay to gather the proper tools.

Trip lay down on a floating anti-grav pad and slid underneath the ship’s engine cowling. Brick helped him remove two heavily armored access panels while the floating drones moved in, holding tools with their manipulator arms.

Peering up into the complex machinery of the Galleon’s engines, Trip unsnapped several restraining clips and moved three insulated power feed cables aside. He winced when he saw the two power converters.

The converters were scratched and carbon-scarred from too much heavy use and too little maintenance. He didn’t have to measure them to know they were off-center. Any time you could see a misalignment by a visual inspection, it meant the pilot was flirting with disaster.

When the converters were working properly, they converted energy from the ship’s fusion reactor into a modulated power flow that could be used by the ship’s engines. When they weren’t working properly, they tended to explode spectacularly.

Trip grabbed a converter calibrator from one of the drones and confirmed his suspicions. The converters were nearly half an inch out of alignment and the calibrator’s scanner said they were unstable. Thamlon was lucky they hadn’t blow up and punctured the engines!

The more Trip looked, the worse things got. The converters’ mounting connectors were worn. They’d need to be replaced, too. They probably got ruined when the converters got knocked out of alignment. And with that kind of misalignment, who knows what kind of power fluxes punched into the engines? While the odds were low that any serious damage was done, Thamlon would be pretty upset if his engines blew up while in flight. That meant Trip would have to run a diagnostic on the entire drive system. That could take ten hours!

Then Trip smiled. He was off the hook! Uncle Craz probably didn’t have the replacement parts on hand. Besides, with something this serious, Craz would want to do the work himself.

Of course, Uncle Craz would want to know that Trip did a thorough job. Trip called out, "Brick, take a look at these and tell me what you think."

Trip pushed out from under the ship and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The labor droid slowly crawled under the engines and looked up at the converters. He didn’t say anything, but Trip knew the droid was surprised when the machine lifted his head up into the engine compartment for a closer look. When Brick spoke, his voice was muffled by the engine compartment’s hull plating.

"No, this doesn’t look good at all. It seems that a complete replacement of the converters is necessary. I would recommend an engine diagnostic, too."

"Just what I was thinking, Brick. I knew I could count on you."

Brick crawled out and stood, the bulky droid moving more gracefully than most people would have thought possible. "I don’t understand why you consider this favorable, Trip."

Trip smiled, "Because I’m not going to have to do the work myself. I’m gonna tell Uncle Craz."

The droid muttered, as much to himself as anyone else since Trip was already gone, "I hope you don’t think you’ll get out of work that easily, Trip."

Trip soon found Uncle Craz, who was sitting at his counter and studying a holographic technical schematic. Trip thought the hologram showed the interior of a Czaylmrit 2j6 laser cannon, the type of weapon used on Reik’s ship. Uncle Craz looked closely at the hologram and frowned.

Craz saw Trip out of the corner of his eye. "Done Thamlon’s freighter already?"

"No. Both the converters are shot—"

Craz cut him off. "Wait! Don’t want to forget what I started. Just a minute, Trip."

Uncle Craz looked back at the hologram. "Trip, could you hand me that laser ignition regulator? The one on the left, with the Y-shaped silver connector."

Trip glanced around the counter and then handed the part to Uncle Craz. Uncle Craz held it up to the hologram. With his left hand, Craz typed a series of numbers on the computer’s touch screen. The hologram displayed the part code number and flashed a message that the part would be within the cannon’s acceptable tolerance.

Uncle Craz looked back at Trip.

"Got the problem solved! I can replace the cannon’s old connectors with these, then attach two power boosters along the energy cycling line and get a seventeen percent boost in power. And that’s with no obvious exterior modifications on the guns and no need for a larger power generator. The guns will slide right past the customs inspectors. Reik will be a happy man—rather, a happy Dublirrian—when he sees this. Now, what were you saying about Thamlon’s ship?"

"Both the converters are shot and the mounting connectors need to be replaced. And I think you should run a full diagnostic on the drive system. Brick agrees."

Uncle Craz looked back at the hologram.

"Well, Thamlon won’t be happy about that. That should set him back over eight thousand Steds. Of course, it’s not our fault if he doesn’t take care of his equipment. I guess I’ll have to handle the repairs."

Trip grinned and Uncle Craz shot him a stern look.

"So, have you swept the floors yet? And when you’re done with that, I think I’ll have you tear down the life-support system on Shi’yaran’s ship. She says the oxygen filtration system isn’t working properly."

Trip couldn’t believe it! More work!

"Uncle Craz, why do I have to do all of this? I don’t want to be a starship mechanic. I want to be a pilot! Why can’t I have a scooter to practice on?"

Craz turned to the computer and said softly, "Save schematic. Shut down."

He then turned back to Trip. Instead of anger, Trip thought Uncle Craz almost looked sad.

"Trip, I know you’ve got your heart set on the stars, but that is for another time. That’s a long ways off. Now, I want you to learn how to take care of equipment. If you want to fly a ship, you’ve got to know how to repair it. You might not see this now, but someday knowing how to repair a drive system or jury-rig your weapons systems with patchwork wiring could mean the difference between living and dying. I have you do all this work because I want you to know how to survive."

Trip thought he saw tears in his Uncle’s eyes, but he kept quiet.

"And Trip, someday you’re going to realize that being out in space is more than just adventure and excitement. It can be dangerous. I’ve lost a lot of friends out there. I don’t want to lose any more of them."

Trip didn’t say a word, but his uncle looked away from him.

"Trip, go home and get your homework done. I’ll have Brick sweep the floors. But I want you to think about what I said."

Trip lay on the roof of Uncle Craz’s house, gazing up at the thousands of stars in the clear night sky. It was beautiful! For as long as he could remember, Trip loved watching the stars at night.

Trip shivered as a gust of wind blew in from the mountains a few miles to the west. Up here in Pennick’s Crossing Cargo Port, one the main port cities on the planet Karrison, the altitude was great enough that it got chilly at night, especially now that it was autumn. Winter would be here soon. Despite the chillier temperatures—sometimes they even got snow here—winter was Trip’s favorite season since the night skies always seemed crystal clear. They were perfect for stargazing!

The metal roof creaked when Trip shifted his weight. Trip winced, hoping Uncle Craz wouldn’t hear and send Brick up to shoo him inside for the night. Given the chance, Trip would stay out here all night to watch for meteorites.

Even though the Cargo Port was only half a mile away, the landing lights didn’t interfere with star gazing too much. Off to the north, Trip saw Flarestaff, Karrison’s only moon. It had risen quickly tonight and its brilliant blue surface reflected plenty of light into the night sky. Trip saw several mountains and a few scattered lights on Flarestaff’s surface. If he’d thought to bring his computer-enhanced binoculars, or combinocs! Then, he’d be able to see three or four of the biggest mines and at least a dozen of the colony domes. If he got lucky, he might be able to see the exhaust from the cargo ships taking off. Trip knew from experience that you couldn’t see the ships unless the sunlight reflected off their metal hulls, but you could follow their exhaust trails as they flew into space. The cargo ships typically headed for one of the orbiting space stations, although the smaller ships that were streamlined for atmospheric flight might come down here to land at one of Karrison’s cargo ports. The lucky ships were headed out-system, flying until they reached a safe point for the jump to lightspeed and distant stars.

Trip sat up when he thought he saw a flicker of light to the west. He hoped he would catch a glimpse of a meteorite. Instead, he spotted a yellow-orange flame and realized it was just another bulk freighter coming in to land at Pennick’s Crossing Cargo Port. The ship was probably coming in from one of the orbiting foundry stations.

The local trade cycle was simple. Pick up metal ore on Flarestaff and drop it off at one of the orbiting foundry space stations. At these stations, ships picked up finished goods like lightweight, high strength metal-alloy products. Ships up at the stations were often sent planet-side to Karrison to pick up loads of food such as meats, high-yield grains, and vegetables fresh from the sprawling agriculture complexes down in the valleys, close to Karrison’s capital city of Sorsel River. While the stations grew some of their own food in hydroponics labs, many people felt they could tell the difference between the lab-grown stuff and the food from down here on the surface, so Karrison’s produce was in high demand.

Trip gazed up at the stars again. The sky was clear tonight, beautiful. He got lost in the stars. He remembered all the adventures he’d read about and wondered what it would be like to finally go out there.

Trip jumped when Brick called up to him.

"Trip, it’s time to come inside and get ready for rest."

Trip sighed, knowing he’d only be able to stall for a few minutes.

"Brick, it’s a beautiful night! Why don’t you come on up?"

Trip soon heard the clanking of metal on metal, as Brick climbed the rickety metal ladder. Soon enough, Brick’s red metal hand—which was probably twice the size of Uncle Craz’s hand—grasped the roof and the droid slowly pulled himself up. If he had been human, Brick would have been huffing and puffing by the time he got the bulk of his body up on the roof, but being a droid, Brick simply looked at Trip and then followed the young boy’s gaze, peering up into the night sky.

"I wasn’t designed for this … but I enjoy spending time with you, young Benjamin. Or ‘Trip,’ as you seem to prefer."

Trip chuckled. "‘Trip’ will be fine, Brick."

Brick gazed at Trip for a few moments, seeming to wait for the boy to invite him to speak. Eventually, the droid broke the silence.

"Your Uncle would not approve of me being up here with you. You are supposed to be getting ready for bed now."

Trip shivered as another cold breeze came up suddenly. As much as he tried not to look cold, Trip couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering. Brick reached over to the ladder and grabbed the light brown windbreaker he’d brought up with him. He handed Trip the jacket.

"At least put this on so you don’t catch a cold."

Reluctantly, Trip took the windbreaker and put it on. Then, silently, he returned to stargazing. He couldn’t help it. Every time he looked up at the stars, the sight of all those lights, knowing that each was a star, each with its own planets … it was amazing. But there was so much more! While he could see perhaps a few hundred stars, the galaxy had billions of stars, billions of planets.

More than anything, Trip wanted to see the wonders of the galaxy. He wanted to visit so many things: The triple-stars of Unsii and their amazing rings … the tree-mounds of the Sh’nar … the Tombs of Drixxia, where it was said that if you listened closely enough, you could hear sounds of battles that happened thousands of years ago and had been preserved in the natural crystal formations … the ancient Temples of Krinaegia and their impenetrable plasma shields. If Trip had his way, some day he would see all of these things and so much more!

Trip still stared at the stars, but now his mind was millions of light-years away. Someday, he would have his own freighter, travelling between worlds as he pleased, taking only the cargo runs he wanted to take. He couldn’t wait to get off Karrison, but being only fifteen, he still had three more years of studies. Then, he’d probably have to sign on as a cargo hand aboard some freighter since he knew Uncle Craz wouldn’t be able to scrape together the money to get him his own ship. Trip wondered what it would be like. He wondered what it had been like for Uncle Craz when he had been young and free like that.

"Brick, do you ever miss the adventures you had with Uncle Craz? Back when he was a pilot?"

Brick still gazed up at the stars as he softly replied, "Your Uncle Craz enjoyed that life for a while, but that time has passed. He lost too many friends. Piloting is a dangerous business, especially when you work for the types of people your uncle used to associate with. There’s no need to dwell on those times. It was a long time ago. Still …."

Brick paused for a few moments, then continued, "I do miss the company of your parents. They were good people."

Trip felt tears well up in his eyes as he thought about the parents he never knew. All he had were a couple of old holographs that sat on his dresser. He turned to look at the labor droid, who was probably nearly twice as old as he was. Like Uncle Craz, Brick was a link to Trip’s past, a past he knew very little about.

"My parents. I don’t remember them. Uncle Craz said they used to be freighter pilots. You know, I want to travel among the stars like they did. I wonder what it’s like out there. I’ve never been out in space."

"Yes you were, when you were first born. You humans forget so much of your lives. Sometimes it is so sad … but other times it is a blessing in disguise."

Trip wiped his face and looked back up at the stars. "Someday I’ll have my own ship. Someday I’ll race between the stars."

"Trip, you have to realize there’s a lot more to being a pilot than adventure. It’s a dangerous business, especially when you’re an independent hauler like your parents were. Sometimes I don’t understand you humans. You cling to life, yet you think nothing of putting yourselves in danger. It’s quite bewildering at times."

Trip’s stargazing was interrupted when he heard Uncle Craz moving downstairs. Finally, Trip heard the ladder creak and Uncle Craz appeared at the edge of the roof, puffing on his pipe.

"Come on down, Trip! You have work to do tomorrow, and studying, too. And you, Brick! I sent you up here to get him, not to keep him up till all hours of the night."

Both boy and droid responded, "Yes, sir," as they crawled towards the ladder. Uncle Craz ducked back inside the house while Brick carefully stepped down the ladder.

Trip gave once last glance up into the night sky, but soon enough his thoughts turned to the work he had ahead of him tomorrow ….

After yesterday’s scolding, Trip was sure to arrive at Uncle Craz’s repair bay on time today. While he wasn’t looking forward to all that he had to do, Trip hoped he could get everything done quickly and then head down to Johnnie’s so they could work on their new scooter.

Trip placed his backpack on a shelf and grabbed a portable computer, heading for Shi’yaran’s freighter. Yesterday his uncle had mentioned the life-support system needed work, so Trip called up the work order. The work order showed that the oxygen scrubbers weren’t working properly and she’d reported some strong odors.

Trip sprinted over to the ship, a boxy Ansleur Starworks design, and entered the hatch’s security access code. When the airlock opened, Trip couldn’t believe the overwhelming stench of rotted garbage! Trip didn’t know a ship could smell so bad. He seriously thought about sealing the ship up and sending Brick in to fix the problem, instead.

Trip sprinted back over to the shelves and grabbed an oxygen scrubber-breather. He pulled the clear mask over his face. Beneath the mask’s "chin," a long, flexible tube connected to a small, silver tube, the filter unit. It was barely six inches long and dotted with tiny venting holes. Trip clipped the filter to his belt and tightened the mask’s straps so the device fit snugly over his face. The scrubber’s fresh air was a welcome relief, even if wearing the mask made him even more uncomfortable in the fierce afternoon heat.

Just as Trip was about to enter Shi’yaran’s vessel, he heard Uncle Craz come up behind him.

"Ack! What’s that smell?"

Trip explained, "I think the oxygen scrubbers need to be replaced."

Craz covered his nose and stepped back several feet. "She wasn’t kidding! Seal the ship up. That’s awful!"

After a few moments, Trip had the ship sealed up and then joined Uncle Craz over at the parts counter. Uncle Craz scratched absent-mindedly at his beard before he spoke.

"Trip, I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to give you the afternoon off."

Trip was surprised but he wasn’t about to argue.

Uncle Craz explained, "I just found out that one of the ships from a Sh’nar trade convoy is in port. I spoke with Clanmother Son’knex earlier this afternoon and she says Jinx should be free to take the rest of the afternoon off as soon as she’s done unloading the cargo. If you hurry, you could be at Port 43 before Jinx is done."

"Thanks!" Trip cried as he raced out of the repair bay. He hadn’t seen Jinx in nearly three months, not since the last time her Sh’nar ship was in port. He wondered what she would want to do today!

As he sprinted through the busy Cargo Port streets, dodging around pedestrians and slow moving anti-grav cargo sleds, Trip realized he had to get Jinx something. It was a Sh’nar custom to offer gifts to welcome friends and guests. While Jinx wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t have something—after all Trip had just found out that she was here—but he still thought it would be nice to have something for her. He had to hurry. He checked his chrono and then looked around at some of the nearby shops.

Trip hated buying gifts! How could he possibly know what she would like? And how could he expect to find anything worthwhile in a tiny cargo port like the one here at Pennick’s Crossing?

The crowd bustled around him as he looked up and down the street. He stepped out into the roadway for a better look. He saw candy and clothing shops. Stores offered droids, computers, and electronics. There were quick-meal restaurants and snack shops catering to spacers and cargo hands. A couple of shops sold energy pistols and other weapons. No, none of those would do.

From behind and above him, Trip heard a booming voice holler, "Move it, boy!"

He turned and looked up to see an angry merchant atop a twenty-foot-tall pack beast. The beast, a nolla, looked around impatiently with its dull black eyes. Its rippled purple and blue lizard skin wrapped tightly around its huge, muscled frame. The nolla pulled three anti-grav cargo sleds loaded down with crates.

The merchant leered down at Trip. He was a Ghioss, an alien race noted for their short tempers. Trip could tell that he—or perhaps she, since Trip had trouble telling the difference—was already furious from the way that his chin sacs puffed out, turning a deep black in contrast to his red-purple skin. The merchant’s chin sacs vibrated with anger.

"How long should I wait while you decide when to move out of the middle of the street? Step aside, now!"

Taking time to apologize would only make the merchant madder, so Trip jumped up onto the permacrete walkway and watched as the nolla slowly plodded past, pulling the sleds as if they weighed only a few pounds. As the nolla advanced down the street, the merchant cursing anyone who got in his way, Trip spotted Old Ray’s, the shop with the best collection of vids, holos and audio recordings in town. He was sure to find something there.

Trip waited for a break in the traffic and scooted across the street. Once inside, his eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the dim lighting after being out in the bright sunlight. The store smelled a little musty and the shelves needed to be dusted.

Trip knew that Jinx would especially appreciate something to watch or listen to since she spent most of her time on starships travelling between planets. There wasn’t a lot to do on those long journeys. Jinx often complained that it was boring, but Trip couldn’t imagine star travel ever getting boring!

A few minutes later, Trip emerged back into the busy street traffic, squinting to keep the bright sun out of his eyes. He’d gotten Jinx an audio disk, Songs of the Starfaring Sh’nar. It was supposed to feature at least twenty different Sh’nar "folk songs" recorded by human artists from throughout the Trishellian Frontier, the worlds along the edge of the Sh’nar Dominion. Trip didn’t know whether it was any good. He’d asked to listen to one of the songs in the store, but after about ten seconds of what sounded like metal screeching on metal, he figured he’d heard enough. Besides, Jinx was a Sh’nar so she’d like it. He hoped.

Trip had to carefully pick his way through the crowd as he sprinted to Port 43. While he really wanted to run, it wouldn’t do any good to plow into anyone. He walked as fast as he could, ducking around people and cutting out into the street to get around people who were blocking the way because they’d stopped to talk. That was one thing he sometimes hated about this place: It seemed that people sometimes had all day to do whatever it was they were doing and they didn’t think twice about moving as slowly as they wanted to!

Trip made his way through the broad but busy streets. He ducked down a side alley that led to the older, narrower streets and alleys that snaked around the Cargo Port’s original buildings. Most of these buildings were over five hundred years old, built back when Karrison was first settled.

Back then, Pennick’s Crossing was simply a small town. Buildings were haphazardly placed wherever the owners decided they wanted one, while incoming ships landed on the flats just beyond the town. The roads were simply paths worn into the soil.

Only after the planet had been colonized and inbound starship traffic increased did local authorities realize they needed a few full-time starship ports. Pennick’s Crossing was picked as one of them because it was close to the valley cities but convenient for incoming ships because there were no major navigational hazards. The cargo port’s architects simply built the new streets and landing bays around the existing city, designing a modern, efficient Cargo Port that ringed the chaotic "Old Town" buildings.

Trip worked his way through the old streets. They were barely ten feet wide so at least they were free of anti-grav vehicles and pack animals, but he still had to twist around open-air merchants’ booths and the many people who slowly shuffled along the paths. The streets were in shadow, the ancient buildings blocking the sun. Many families – mostly poor ones – lived on the second and third floors of these buildings. Trip smelled meals being cooked and heard the shouts of children playing in back alleys.

Soon, Trip emerged from the shadowed side streets onto a broad avenue lined by dozens of starship cargo bays. These streets were wide enough for the transport vehicles that delivered and took cargo from the many vessels that landed in the Cargo Port every day. He looked across the street and saw Port 31. He sprinted towards Port 43.

Two blocks and five minutes later, Trip arrived at Port 43 just as a large anti-grav tractor pulled through the wide-open cargo doors and out into the street. The tractor’s engine strained as it pulled three linked trailers around a corner. The trailers rocked as their anti-grav generators struggled to keep the loads upright during the turn. The tractor slowly pulled away, headed towards the storage warehouses several blocks away.

Trip scooted through cargo door entrance and into the bay. He saw five freighters. The first two ships he didn’t recognize. The third ship in line was a Mren design even though a human, probably the ship’s owner, was directing labor droids as they stacked cargo modules on an anti-grav trailer.

Then, fourth in line, Trip saw a Sh’nar ship. It was short for a freighter, only about seventy-five feet long, but the wide, rounded cargo section beneath the elevated cockpit module could hold hundreds of small cargo containers. The Sh’nar ship could be carry anything from dried foods to computer parts or liquid fertilizer for the agriculture complexes down in the valleys.

The ship was black with dark green and blue trim. Trip didn’t understand the Sh’nar letters on the side that spelled out its name, but he recognized one symbol that marked the ship as belonging to the Knex’slii clan. Another strange-looking but familiar symbol indicated the ship’s homeworld was Sh’Bahral, the homeworld of Jinx’s clan.

The ship was ugly but it was everything Trip wanted in life. It traveled among the stars, visiting dozens of planets every month. It allowed Clanmother Son’knex’s small crew to earn a living.

Trip raced towards the vessel as a cargo droid slowly walked down the exit ramp, cradling a heavy-looking crate in its arms. While the droid looked like it might lose its balance and tumble onto its back any second, Trip knew the droid’s auto-balance system and the mechanical piston lifters inside its arms and legs gave the robot tremendous strength and balance. In many ways, the droid was like Brick, but Trip was pretty sure that this droid hadn’t developed nearly as much personality as his friend back at Uncle Craz’s garage.

Trip walked up the ramp, making sure to stay out of the robot’s way. Another cargo droid appeared at the top of the ramp, followed by Clanmother Son’knex. As usual, Son’knex was stern and serious. Trip had met her five or six times and never once had she smiled, laughed or even talked more than absolutely necessary.

Son’knex looked like most Sh’nar. As a full grown adult, she was about six and a half feet tall, although more than half of her height was the set of long, well-muscled, three-jointed legs. With two sets of "knees" in each leg, Sh’nar had excellent balance and they were fast. They could run at nearly three times the speed of the best human athletes. When they ran, they looked like they almost leapt through the air. Sh’nar were experts at picking their way through rough and uneven terrain. While Sh’nar preferred to run as much as possible, they’d adopted the "human" custom of walking, although for them it was terribly slow and they swayed back and forth as their double-kneed legs adjusted to this strange type of movement.

Sh’nar had a layering of tiny, glittering scales, similar to snake skin. Clanmother Son’knex’s skin was green-blue, although Sh’nar could be almost any color, including black, red, yellow, or even silver or gold.

Son’knex’s brilliant golden eyes, with vertical pupils like a cat’s, shone out from underneath a bony ridge where a human’s eyebrows would be. The ridge jutted out a full four inches. The ridge curved back to cover the skull, spreading up the forehead and around the entire back of the head. It provided the head and brain with a double layer of protection and the Sh’nar called it the cibra’noct, which roughly translated as "head covering."

Instead of ears, Sh’nar had four ear holes in their head coverings—one just above the eyes, one on each side of the head and one at the back of the head just above the neck. Each ear hole had a complex series of echo chambers and nerve endings that gave Sh’nar incredibly sensitive and accurate directional hearing.

Like her legs, Son’knex’s arms were triple-jointed with an "extra" set of elbows. The elbows could bend in almost any direction, giving the Sh’nar remarkable dexterity and agility. Each hand was wide and slightly curved, with four long fingers. While Sh’nar didn’t have thumbs, their fingers were so flexible that they could work most tools as easily—perhaps more easily—than a human could.

Clanmother Son’knex wore a baggy brown tunic-robe that ended above her first pair of knees. A tool belt clipped on the tunic at the right shoulder and crossed her chest before clipping to her waist on the left side. In addition to the dozens of work tools, the belt also had a hand-held transcomm and a holster for her tiny energy pistol.

She stared at Trip for a second and then slowly nodded at him.

She softly said, "In there. Stay out of the way."

That was a close to Hello Trip, good to see you! How are you doing? as he was going to get, so Trip blurted out a quick, "Hello Clanmother Son’knex!" and raced up the ramp and into the cargo hold.

Trip glanced around the ship’s almost empty cargo bay. There were a dozen cargo containers tucked into one corner. The ship could carry full-size cargo crates like those hauled by the anti-grav tractors outside, but these smaller cargo modules, which were cubes about four feet to a side, allowed the ship to mix different types of cargoes. At the front of the cargo hold was a small ladder that led up to the ship’s main deck, above the cargo hold.

Trip heard the steady stomping of the cargo droids as they slowly walked back up the ramp. Not knowing where to go, he called out, "Jinx! Where are you?"

Trip heard a couple of Sh’nar voices talking in their high-pitched, whistling language. From the main deck above, a Sh’nar wrapped its legs around the ladder’s rails and slid down to the cargo hold floor. It was someone Trip didn’t recognize, but then he heard a familiar voice above him. It was Jinx.

Jinx soon slid down the ladder to the cargo bay floor. She looked much like Clanmother Son’knex, although she was young, like Trip, and only about five feet tall. She had green and red scales while her cibra’noct was still a light gray, indicating that she was still in adolescence. She was dressed in a light brown worksuit. The many tools on her waist belt jangled as she leapt onto the cargo bay floor.

She continued speaking in the Sh’nar tongue to her co-worker when she turned towards Trip. She stopped in mid-sentence as her bright green eyes grew wide. She smiled, charging towards him to give him a great hug.

She screamed, "Trip, you’re here!"

"Ow!"

Trip felt his back crack as Jinx gave him a tight hug. She was stronger than she looked!

"Trip, it’s so good to see you! You wouldn’t believe everything that’s happened! Let’s go get some lunch!"

It had been nearly three months since he’d last seen Jinx, so Trip was excited that they would be able to spend the afternoon together. He remembered his gift and shyly handed the small bag to her.

"This is for you. I hope you like it."

Jinx pulled the disk out of the bag and examined it carefully, almost like she didn’t quite know what to do with it. She silently turned it around in her hands, reading the label. Trip’s hopes crashed as she said simply, "That’s very thoughtful, Trip."

Trip could tell what she really thought of it by the tone of her voice.

"You don’t like it. I’m sorry."

Jinx laughed and grabbed his hand.

"No, I do like it. I’ve really interested in seeing how—" She read the label out loud, stumbling over the name of one of the artists, "—how Communicon Quasar will interpret The Three Tiny Quaztik. It always was one of my favorite nursery rhymes."

"Nursery rhymes! Oh no! I just thought, it being Sh’nar music and you being a Sh’nar, that you know, I hoped it would be something you’d really like. I’m just lousy at picking gifts for other people. It’s a lot easier to find stuff for myself!"

Jinx laughed. "Of course it is! You know just what you want! But what means the most is that you took the time to get me something. You must have run the whole way to get here on time."

That made Trip feel better.

"Well, Jinx, you are faster than I am. You have the legs for it."

"Trip, we all have our natural gifts," Jinx said as she smiled. A Sh’nar’s smile was unnerving to many humans since Sh’nar had a row of short but sharp incisors.

"Now, wait a second while I go get something for you," she said as she leapt back up at the ladder, her long legs allowing her to climb four rungs at a time.

Jinx disappeared out of view. Trip waited uncomfortably while the other Sh’nar workers and the labor droids pulled the final cargo modules out of the ship’s cargo hold. Clanmother Son’knex slowly strode into the cargo bay, rocking gently back and forth with each stride. Her eyes soon came onto Trip and she stared at him for several seconds.

Nervous from her gaze—almost like having a teacher’s stare bore into him—Trip stammered, "Thanks for your help! Boy, I bet you are all tired after the long trip here. I can’t imagine what it’s like being out in space all the time. It must be exciting. Anyway, Jinx is up in her quarters getting the gifts she brought for me. I got her an audio disk. I hope she likes it."

Clanmother Son’knex listened patiently. She responded with a quick nod.

Trip felt himself beginning to fidget as he glanced around the cargo bay, looking anywhere but into her eyes. He finally muttered, "Jinx should be back any minute. Is it okay if I stand here?"

Again she nodded, saying nothing.

Finally Jinx returned to the cargo bay, clutching two small cloth bags. She looked inside both of them and then handed the larger of the two to Trip. Carefully, he reached inside the bag and pulled out what appeared to be a small necklace, although the "chain" was made not of metal, but small, smooth pebbles that were yellow with orange stripes. On the end of the necklace was a very thin, flat ring about three inches across. Suspended at the center of the ring by small metal pins was a black globe. The globe appeared to have a hole drilled through it from top to bottom, with several more pinprick-sized holes drilled at odd points. The globe whistled whenever it moved.

"Jinx, this is beautiful. What is it?"

"It’s called an alyaman. It’s like a spirit guide. Each one is unique, handmade by the spirit crafters of Tamensorb. Their warriors wear them when they have to travel to the jungles in the high mountains to hunt luptors. The warriors believe that when they wear their alyamans, their ancestors can hear its song and watch over them from the spirit realm. They believe their ancestors guide them during hunts and protect them from danger."

Trip’s eyes widened as he studied the necklace.

"Jinx, this is great! But I never have to worry about danger. Nothing ever happens here on Karrison!"

"Trip, if I know you, you probably had a close scrape with death in just the past two days! The number of anti-grav scooters you’ve wrecked in the past year is enough to get me worried."

Trip’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jinx’s face.

"How did you know? Did Uncle Craz tell you?"

Jinx smiled.

"No, Uncle Craz didn’t tell me about anything. But I just know you. You’re always up to something! Besides, someday you’re going to get into real trouble and then you’ll really need your ancestors to look out for you!"

Trip carefully undid the chain’s clasp and put it on. He slipped the chain, globe and ring beneath his shirt. As he moved, he felt the cool pebble necklace slide across his skin and he heard a faint, barely audible whistle. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have the extra luck on his side. Just in case.

When Trip looked back up at Jinx, he saw her holding a flat, oval rock about two inches across. The rock was a soft, pale white color with several streaks of brilliant blue. She handed it to him. It was cool and comfortable in his palm. When Trip looked at it closely, he realized it was not a rock, but a crystal. It had a small hole drilled through one end. As Trip held the crystal, it started to glow, quickly becoming bright enough to light the whole cargo hold.

Trip asked, "What is it?"

"It’s a light crystal from Opophryn. It constantly absorbs light. When it reaches a high enough temperature—like when you hold it for a couple of minutes—the light is released. It’s like having a natural portalight that never needs to have its energy cells recharged! I figured you could use it at Uncle Craz’s garage since you always seem to be crawling around inside dark cargo holds and engines. Here, run the chord through the crystal and clip it onto your work belt. It will absorb light whenever you’re in daylight!"

Trip was thrilled with Jinx’s thoughtfulness. She always gave him perfect gifts!

"Jinx, these are wonderful! I’m sorry you don’t like the audio disk. Why don’t I treat you to lunch?"

Jinx said, "Trip, that’s perfect! How about Draul’s? They’ve got the best braised freeltip I’ve ever tasted!"

Trying not to look too anxious, Trip and Jinx patiently walked out of the cargo bay and past Clanmother Son’knex. Again, she just nodded at both of them. Trip was trying to fight his urge to break into a run. He knew that Jinx probably wanted to do the same thing, but she wouldn’t want to be corrected by the Clanmother for being rude, so they both walked carefully, slowly, silently trading smiles as they headed towards the street.

After a few steps, Trip leaned over towards Jinx and whispered, "I don’t think Clanmother Son’knex likes me. She never talks to me. All she does is nod at me whenever I see her."

Jinx chuckled.

"Trip, don’t be silly. She’s like that with everyone. She likes you."

Trip relaxed. "I hope so."

Then, Jinx turned back towards her Clanmother, rocking slightly as her legs and body spun around. She screamed, "Trip is afraid you don’t like him, Clanmother! I told him he had nothing to worry about. You like him, don’t you?"

Clanmother Son’knex nodded, saying nothing. Trip felt his face flush. He should have known better than to tell Jinx about that! Before Trip could say anything, the Clanmother said, "You have until lift-off to be back here. That’s three hours! Stay out of trouble."

Jinx said, "Thank you! And we’ll be okay! Don’t worry."

Jinx looked at Trip and said, "Cool! Let’s go!"

Trip said, "I’ll get even with you for that!"

Then the two of them took off towards the street, Trip running as fast as his legs could carry him, while Jinx slowly jogged along beside him.

Trip and Jinx ran all the way to Draul’s, about three blocks from Port 43. It was a basic diner, nothing special, but it was busy at all hours, even in the middle of the night, because it catered to starship crews and the Cargo Port’s laborers.

The menu boasted dishes from fifty different planets so there were always many aliens huddled around the small tables. It was the middle of the afternoon and the place was packed. The air was thick with smoke from pipes, smoke-tubes and aroma snifters. Trip and Jinx had to wait nearly ten minutes for a table while a pair of burly Vnedrian traders finished their meals.

Trip ordered a roast prond sandwich smothered in gravy. Reluctantly, he ate the fresh vegetables, but only because he knew they were good for him. Besides, he’d forgotten to take his vitamin supplement tablet because he was in a rush to get to school.

Jinx ordered braised freeltip. To Trip it looked like a pile of lumpy oatmeal, except it was pink and fuzzy and covered with a strange blue sauce that smelled a little bit like cinnamon. Jinx loved every bite. Trip politely refused Jinx when she offered to give him a bite. For all he knew, he might be allergic to it!

After lunch was complete, Trip got into line to pay. It was just eight Steds! That was one other thing Trip liked about Draul’s—he could afford the prices! As he and Jinx turned to leave, Trip heard someone behind him say, "Hey, you!"

Trip turned and saw a young man, maybe three inches taller than him and probably two or three years older. He was dressed like a spacer. He wore a black vest, dirty white shirt and dark brown pants. He was wearing a red cap and thick leather-hide work gloves. Trip also noticed the holster and energy pistol strapped at his hip. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t someone to be messed around with.

He looked at Trip and said, "I thought that was you. You work for Old Man Craz, don’t you?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah. He’s my uncle. I do a little bit of everything around there. Who are you?"

The young man took off his cap and wiped his forehead, then set the cap back in place.

"My name’s Datz. I work on the freighter Timeon Runner. I’ve been to your uncle’s place before. He worked on our ship once."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Trip didn’t have much else to say, although Datz certainly seemed like he wanted say something.

Finally, Trip said, "Well, I’ve got to get running. I’ll see you around."

"Yeah, I’m sure you will," Datz finally said.

Trip and Jinx made their way into the street.

Trip said, "That was weird. He seemed like he wanted something. I guess he was nice enough."

Jinx shook her head. "I wouldn’t trust him. Something about him bugs me. I guess it doesn’t matter now. Hey, we’ve only got a little while before I have to leave! Let’s get going!"

Trip and Jinx decided to spend time wandering the downtown streets of Pennick’s Crossing. It was a beautiful day with clear skies and plenty of warm sunshine. A light breeze coming off the mountains kept the temperature comfortable.

Jinx just smiled and talked about how much she enjoyed being out in sunlight and breathing real air. Trip had forgotten that she’d been cooped up in a starship for nearly three weeks, breathing recycled air, eating pre-packaged food packets and not feeling any natural sunlight. Trip loved the idea of space travel, though. It seemed like a small price to pay for the freedom of traveling among the stars.

The beautiful afternoon was well spent as they wandered through countless shops and amused themselves with a constant stream of jokes. Trip brought Jinx over to try the new holographic space combat game that had just arrived at Ric’cci’s. They laughed and joked just like old times—they’d been friends for nearly six years—but Trip could tell that something was bothering Jinx. While in one of the stores, eyeing the newest holocubes, Jinx asked, "Trip, have you thought about what you’re going to do when you’re done school?"

"I think about it all the time. I know I’m not the type for one of the universities. Too quiet. It’s going to be a life in the stars for me! I’m gonna find an old starship, fix it up, and then I’ll be out travelling around the galaxy, working when I want for whoever I want. I won’t have to take orders from anyone! Of course, Uncle Craz really wants me to take over the repair business. You know, something stable and safe. He wants to get out it. But that’s not what I want. I’ll bring him around to my way of thinking. What about you, Jinx?"

Trip looked over at his friend. It wasn’t easy for most humans to understand Sh’nar facial expressions because their facial muscles were arranged differently, but Trip had spent enough time with Jinx. He could sense her anxiety. She nodded her head as if she was still listening, but Trip knew her mind was on other things.

After a moment of silence, Jinx finally realized that Trip was waiting for an answer.

"Trip, I’ve got to make my life-path choice soon. I know what I want to do. I want to be a starship pilot. It’s all I’ve ever thought about since I was five or six cycles old. But Clanmother Son’knex wants me to be a logistics programmer. She says the clan has more than enough pilots but not enough people to organize the ships and manage the business. And she’s seen my test scores—she knows I did well in math, logic and abstract thinking. According to the numbers, I should be a great programmer."

"So what? If you want to be a pilot, if that’s what your heart is calling for you to do, then you have to do it! Who cares if the clan needs more programmers? Let the clan find them! You only get one life!"

"Not if you’re a Wevver. Their spirits sometimes pass through as many as ten or fifteen bodies before they transcend."

"Oh, that’s not the point! You’ve got to live your life in a way that’s going to make you happy!"

Then Trip realized Jinx was trying to make a joke. He added, "Of course, it would be fun to have ten or fifteen lifetimes to play around with, wouldn’t it?"

Jinx laughed and pushed him "softly" in the ribs. Softly for her was hard enough to shove him back about three feet.

Jinx said, "Trip, you do know how to make me happier when I’m upset. It’s good to spend time with you. But I’m still worried. I’ve got to make my decision soon. And if I decide to become a pilot, I’ll be cast out of the clan, considered ‘clan-less’ until I can prove my worth and a clan is willing to accept me into its ranks. That means leaving my family, my cousins, everyone I’ve ever known. If I’m not successful early on—assuming I can find a ship that’ll take me—I might never be accepted into a clan."

Trip looked into Jinx’s eyes. "Jinx, you will always have friends no matter what. And you will always be part of my family. Tell you what, we should go into business together. You, me, Uncle Craz, wandering the stars—you can be a part of our clan. All you have to do is be yourself!"

Jinx whistled a short song. She used her two-chambered voice box to create two distinct melodies that she wove together beautifully. One sounded like a light flute, free as the wind, while the other was deeper, rumbling. The song was sad at first, sounding like an ending and mourning period, then suddenly it burst into a new beginning with a rush of excitement and joy. Trip thought it was beautiful.

Jinx hugged her friend, saying softly, "Thanks, Trip. I knew I could count on you to be my friend no matter what."

Trip blushed and didn’t know what to say. Finally, he blurted out, "Well, how can we be the best pilots in the galaxy unless we help each other?"

Jinx mentioned that they should get going so she would have time to stop in and greet Uncle Craz.

After skirting through several alleys, they made it to the back door of Uncle Craz’s repair bay. Trip entered the security code on the electronic lock. Uncle Craz didn’t feel that he needed a more sophisticated and expensive unit like a genetic, voiceprint or retinal scanner. Besides, who’d want to break into some greasy old starship repair shop?

The lock flashed green as it accepted Trip’s code. There was a hiss of air as the thick security door cracked open and slid into the wall. Trip and Jinx stepped into the repair bay’s back hallway and the door sealed behind them. Trip and Jinx dodged around piles of old starship parts as they made their way toward the repair bay’s main chamber.

Just as they were about to walk out to greet Uncle Craz, they heard several voices.

Trip whispered, "Uncle Craz has customers. We’d better be quiet."

Trip and Jinx ducked behind two crates, being careful not to knock over the precarious stacks of parts resting on the crates. One of the voices suddenly rang out loud and angry.

"You listen to us, old man. You’ll work for us—or you won’t work for anyone!"

Trip didn’t know what to do. Who would threaten Uncle Craz?

Trip whispered to Jinx, "What do you think is going on?"

"Shhh! If you listen, you might find out!"

Trip looked around and spotted a shaft of light coming from between two crates. Kneeling low, he put his eye to the light.

He whispered, "Jinx, find a gap between the crates. You’ll be able to see what’s going on!"

Jinx searched around and found a spot where she could watch.

Uncle Craz was surrounded by a group of strangers, one human and three aliens. Craz looked worried, but he was standing straight and tall. He was at least half a foot shorter than all of them.

The human was bald, with bright red eyes and a thin mustache. He had a strange mark on his cheek. Trip realized it was some kind of tattoo. He was dressed in a brown leather battle vest that was covered with scars and laser burns. Trip assumed the vest had poly-ceramic armor plates hidden underneath or else it would have been useless in battle. On the man’s hip was a low-slung holster with a dangerous-looking energy pistol.

The man pointed directly at Uncle Craz. He warned, "I don’t think you understand me. You’ll do the work we need done and you’ll do it today! We don’t have time to wait around!"

As the man spoke, his other three companions slowly lowered their hands towards their energy pistols. Trip was very worried. Would they attack Uncle Craz? Who were they anyway?

Trip knew he had to help. Maybe he could sneak into Uncle Craz’s office and grab the old energy rifle Craz kept around for emergencies. This sure looked like an emergency to Trip!

Trip started to stand, ready to head off to Uncle Craz’s office. Jinx grabbed his shoulder. She squeezed hard. She was strong! She whispered, but Trip could tell she was getting angry.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

"Where do you think I’m going? I’m going to help Uncle Craz!"

Jinx shook her head. "Oh, no, you’re not! Your Uncle can take care of himself. You stay out of this or you might get yourself shot!"

Trip tried to pull away, but Jinx’s grip just got tighter. Now it hurt!

"Oww, Jinx, let go! You don’t have to break my shoulder!"

Jinx smiled. "I’m just making sure you stay put! Now sit down and let Uncle Craz straighten this out. He knows what he’s doing. I wonder who they are?"

Trip peered back through the crates and studied the strangers. Then he noticed that the human had a tattoo on the back of his right hand. It looked like a stellar diamond, but with a dangerous-looking snake-like creature wrapped around it. The creature—a coiler from Dahlinor if Trip remembered correctly—looked like it was ready to sink its fangs into the diamond.

Trip then noticed that the aliens had the same tattoo on their right hands. Trip glanced at Jinx.

"Do you think they’re smugglers? Look, they all have the same tattoo."

"I’m not sure. But they look like they’re ready to cause trouble for anyone who gets in their way!"

Uncle Craz backed away a step and shook his head. He stood tall even as the strangers closed in on him.

Craz said, "You tell Diamond Black Joe that I don’t need the work. I’m plenty busy."

One of the aliens laughed. He—Trip assumed it was a "he"—was yellow-skinned, with large breathing flaps that started under his eyes and ran all the way down his cheek, hanging down below his long, curved jaw. They were almost like a dog’s long jowls. There were strange green stripes on the flaps. The breathing flaps fluttered with the alien’s laughter. Then Trip realized that the green stripes were slits, probably like gills for breathing water. The alien’s laugh was mean and harsh. It was the kind of laugh someone makes when they’re angry. The alien inhaled deeply and a shrill, high-pitched whistle came from his gills.

"You don’t look busy, old Craz. You only got two or three ships here. And I’m sure no one is as important as Diamond Black Joe. He was kind of expecting you to fit him in. For old times’ sake."

The alien laughed again. It made Trip shiver.

The tattoo-faced human stepped forward and talked to the alien. "Whistler, how do you think Diamond Black Joe will take it if Craz doesn’t install those power boosters in our ships?"

Whistler’s right hand, resting on the butt of his energy pistol, twitched like he was ready to draw it. Then the hand relaxed.

Whistler said, "Well, Slayton, I think he’ll take it real personally. Craz, he might think you don’t like him anymore. And after the beating our ships took at Kweniclapt Nebula, we need the repairs done quickly and quietly. Once upon a time, you could be counted on for these things, old man."

Craz held his tongue for a few seconds as he glanced at each of the strangers. Finally his gaze settled on Slayton, the tattoo-faced human.

"I’m out of that business. I’ve been out of it for a long time. You tell Diamond Black Joe I’ll never work for him again! Now get out of my shop before I call the law squads!"