Commander Frank Jackson woke up when the alarm klaxons went off. He jumped out of his soft, extra-wide bed and pulled on his trousers and boots. Then he picked up the shirt and the uniform jacket and left his room while putting them on. He was not a man to hesitate in a moment of need. In his forty years as a fighter pilot and then as a commander of a Federal Skeet Cruiser, he had learned one important thing: the slow ones died fast.

He reached the bridge at the same moment as the shrill sound of the alarm klaxons died down. With a quick glance he assessed the situation. The three members of the bridge crew were all sitting at their terminals, with their eyes fixed on their respective view screens.

"What is it, Lieutenant Boors?" he asked from a youthful blond man who was in charge in his absence.

"Sir! We don't know! The klaxons just went off suddenly but there is nothing in the scanners. Sergeant Fledgers says that he saw something in them for a brief moment before the alarm, but it disappeared as quickly as it emerged," the lieutenant answered.

Frank Jackson frowned. "Keep your eyes in the scanners, people," he said and walked to his command chair. He had commanded the Skeet Cruiser through many situations that some other commander could not have handled and he felt certain that this was not going to offer him any more of a challenge. And it was not only he who had been lucky in the past; the ship itself was one of the oldest of its kind and had survived many a war even before he had been assigned to command it.

The system that they were in was known for its peacefulness. Although it had only one spaceport in the single garden planet and no space stations, and the police force was almost non-existent, there was rarely any pirate activity in the system. It was actually a miracle, considering how far outside the Federal Core Systems it lay.

Suddenly the bridge speaker system roared as several laser pulses appeared from nowhere and hit their shields, draining them fast. Commander Jackson stood up from his chair and stared at the main view screen. In the darkness of the space he could suddenly see several small ships, all coloured black, bearing down at them with their lasers shooting continuously.

"Sir! There are eight unidentified medium fighters attacking us from all sides! They just appeared from nowhere!" the alarmed lieutenant screamed.

"Lock onto them and fire the missiles!" Jackson roared above the screeching noise of the speakers. "And try to escape their lasers!"

Then the pulse lasers of the unknown ships died down as suddenly as they had begun shearing the Skeet Cruiser's shields. "Fire the missiles!" Jackson roared again.

"The shields at 36 percent," the ship's AI informed.

"Sir! The ships disappeared again before we could lock onto them! There is nothing out there!" Sergeant Fledgers shouted back, a little bit less enthusiastically than the lieutenant. Jackson made a mental note of the sergeant's ability to keep a cool head under extreme situations. It would get him far in his career.

Jackson cursed silently. The enemy fighters must be equipped with the half-mythical Cloaking Devices. There was no other explanation. But who could have the means to equip such small ships with the extremely expensive and restricted devices? The humanity did not have the technology to produce them and the last few remaining ones left over from some extinct alien race were supposed to be in safe hands. Jackson frowned in his thoughts and wondered if the Empire was once again up to something depraved.

Then the unknown ships appeared again from empty space and started shooting at them. "Lock onto them and fire the missiles, crew!" Jackson commanded again, still sure that he was on top of the situation and that they would come out of the fight victorious.

"Missile locked and fired, sir," said the sergeant. The lieutenant followed the suite and soon two missiles were hurtling towards two of the eight attackers.

But it was too late. The shields were gone and the enemy lasers started eating through the Skeet's hull. And then the two enemy fighters that had been targeted with the missiles disappeared again and the missiles lost their targets and exploded harmlessly in empty space. The rest of the enemy craft continued their assault until the Skeet Cruiser's nuclear plant was hit and the whole ship exploded. Commander Jackson's last futile order for an escape into the hyperspace did not reach anyone's ears. The young sergeant would never have the flourishing career that Jackson had visualised for him.

Reorte, a system close to both Lave and Leesti and formerly famous for being the home of two spaceship manufacturers, Faulcon Manspace and Raddlett and Rayburn, was nowadays little visited. Its major exports were metal alloys and minerals, which more than guaranteed the continuing disinterest of most traders, unless they came to sell food and oxygen to the small, and basically the only one, spaceport in the system. After Faulcon Manspace had merged with deLacy Shipworks and moved their offices to Sol system and after the other manufacturer had bankrupted the fame of the frontier system was said to be a thing of the past.

But still it was exactly the system Reorte in which Marcan Rayger found himself only a few days after he had collected his reward for killing Mr Jones. He had received another message from the Bardoff Trust Fund that the original designer of Castor, his current spacecraft, had finally been located. Or at least her daughter. The BTF representative had asked him to visit them as a liaison of their possible future co-operation. The board of the BTF hoped that they might bring Castor into mass production and the company, Vera Industries, might be the one to choose because of their connection to the original designer, Christine Vera.

Marcan had been quite surprised to hear the name of the owner of this small manufacturing company. The last time he had seen Alana Vera, she had been stealing a military ship from quite another company. It appeared that she had done the crime in order to earn the rest of the money that she needed to start her own company. Marcan now assumed that she might have stolen more than just the ship from the other manufacturer. That the woman happened to be the daughter of the one who had designed Castor for late Professor Bardoff was an unbelievable coincidence and it bothered Marcan. But, for the moment being, he was willing to believe that sometimes even the most improbable of coincidences might happen.

"Castor, how far away is Reorte 9?" Marcan asked. He was resting in his quarters and had not turned on the cabin computer screen. During the past few days he had found himself in his quarters instead of the bridge more and more often. His thoughts had been disturbed and he had found it hard to concentrate on his new mission. In his dreams he had relived the last few moments before he had fired Castor's missiles and destroyed Mr Jones's countryside abode. He had almost convinced himself that it was just some after-effects of the fulfilled vengeance, or the thrill of combat, but, still, he kept yearning for the darkened bedroom and found himself there, wondering whether he had won anything in the end. Had the vengeance been worth the many lives that he had taken with Mr Jones's?

"Reorte 9 is still 4 astronomical units away, commander," Castor answered through the intercom.

"Is there any sign of the manufacturing plant yet?" Marcan asked. In the message from the Bardoff's Trust Fund he had been told to ignore the system's only spaceport, Nakasoneport on Reorte 1 and head straight for the sixth planet. The sixth planet was one of the system's four gas giants, and the smallest. Though the gravity field around the planet was still over 45 Gs, there were some specialised mining 'bots that could mine the outer reaches of such a planet. And that was what Marcan had been told Vera Industries was presently doing, along with mining the only satellite of that planet.

"No, commander. But they may well be on the other side of the planet," Castor answered.

Marcan nodded in the half darkness of his room. Then he asked; "Castor, how do you feel about all this?" It might have been a strange question to be asked from an ordinary spacecraft AI, but Castor was not ordinary in any way. For one thing, an ordinary AI would not have understood what he meant by the question, but Castor did.

"Commander, I do not know yet how I feel about meeting the daughter of the one who designed my present frame. It will make me happy, I'm sure, but I would be happier if I knew that she can guide us to my brother," Castor said.

Marcan smiled, "It will be a step forward, I guarantee you. Once I find out more about your brother, he will be easier to find. At least we can describe him better in any wanted-messages." He had still been unable to make Castor himself tell him what the other ship, Polydeuces, looked like. It seemed that Castor confused the appearance of the ship with the appearance of a character called Polydeuces in the classical mythology. It was just another of the residual marks of the madness that late Bardoff had inflicted on the AI.

"Commander, the Vera Industries' manufacturing plant is now visible," Castor said.

Marcan stood up from his bed and headed for the bridge. After their earlier conversation he had fallen asleep again and had only now awakened. In his dream, he had seen the immense explosion of Mr Jones's house when his missiles had found their marks. He tried to shake the remnants of the dream from his head when he sat on the pilot's seat.

The immense gas giant loomed on the right side of the view, but Marcan paid more attention to the small dot on an orbit around it. The registration number was quite meaningless to him and he turned the automatic labels off, concentrating solely on examining the plant that they were now slowly approaching.

When they got closer, it became clear that the plant was of gigantic proportions, rivalling the size of that of a small space trading port. It was not shaped similarly, though. The manufacturing ship reminded Marcan of one half of a bird's egg, cut in half lengthwise. It was a craft that contained both the offices and the manufacturing plant of the Vera Industries. But, unlike the corporation that was only a few months old, the giant craft seemed much older. Marcan gauged from the visible marks of earlier repair jobs that it had to be at least one or two hundred years old.

"Unknown craft with the registration code BD-753, identify yourself!" came through the speakers suddenly. It was a female voice, but with a hard edge to it. It was clear that Vera Industries did not like people snooping around their work site.

Marcan opened the communications channel and answered immediately; "This is Marcan Rayger, the commander of Castor. I'm the representative of Bardoff's Trust Fund."

When the traffic controller answered the hard edge was gone from her voice. "Welcome, Commander Rayger. We have been expecting you. Please turn your ship's control over to your automatic pilot and lock onto our beacon," the voice said.

Marcan did as he was told and admired the view of the manufacturing plant as his Castor was gently guided in through the landing bay doors. It was clear to him that the bay where he was taken was just one of the many on the craft. The fact that there were no newly constructed ships there, or visible means to get them there, told him as much. This bay was for quests only.

As the ship settled down, Marcan was already picking himself up from the pilot's seat. He stopped only to collect his datapad from one of the small storage drawers on his way to the entrance hatch. After only a brief glance at the small screen beside the airlock that indicated the atmospheric conditions on the outside, he punched the button that opened the hatch doors.

By the time he had reached the end of the flat entrance ramp that took him in the front of his ship, between the two forward-bearing wings, there were others in the landing bay. Or rather, one human other and another that was a droid moving on three wheels. As he walked towards the 'welcoming committee', the droid was joined by two androids. The computers on wheels and legs ignored him but the human stepped forward with his hand extended for greeting.

"Welcome, Commander Rayger, onboard the Vera Industries' manufacturing plant and the main offices," the human said with a slight grin. "I'm James Weston, the vice-president of Vera Industries."

Marcan took the offered hand and gave it a strong squeeze. He watched the other man's eyes to see if he flinched, but saw nothing but the greeting smile and friendly eyes. The director had passed his first test. Marcan did not like dealing with men who could not handle healthy handshakes.

"Greetings, Mr Weston," Marcan said in turn, "It's a pleasure to be here."

The other man nodded and turned his attention to the only ship in the hangar. "So, this is the famed Castor," he said.

Marcan nodded, "Yes. I understand that you might be interested in starting to mass produce it?"

James Weston nodded, "Yes, we might be. Although we have thus far concentrated in small quantity orders, we need a star product to make our company more widely known."

Marcan grinned, "Yes, and as the designer of Castor has a family connection to your company's owner, it would be almost like an in-house design."

"There is that too," the other man said. "By the way, the owner, Alana Vera, is also the president of this company and you will have a chance to talk with her in short order. But before that, I have to ask your permission for these droids and android to enter your ship and take a look around."

Marcan nodded again. Although he did not like the idea of letting strangers into his ship, he had been told to co-operate with the company representatives. The hefty paycheck that he would receive for all the inconvenience made it worth it. "You have my permission," he said and punched a key in his datapad. The small computer was linked with Castor and told him to keep the entrance ramp extended for the visitors.

"Thank you, commander. I'm sure Ms Vera will appreciate the chance to study her mother's last design," Weston said as the droids started moving towards the unique ship.

As they turned to walk down a corridor that took them away from the landing bay, Marcan asked; "What did you mean by saying that Castor was Vera's mother's last design? Is she dead, then?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say that she is. She died eight years ago, only a short while after Castor was finished and left on its first mission. The mission that it did not return from until you brought it back," James Weston explained.

Marcan nodded. He regretted that he could not speak to the original designer to find out more about Castor's brother. "How much information do you have of the ship? Did Alana inherit any of her mother's blueprints?" he asked.

James shook his head, "Unfortunately we know very little. It seems that Professor Bardoff insisted that he kept almost all of the material to himself. We possess only a few sketches and 3-D models. That is why we wanted to have our droids inspect your ship. Bardoff's Trust Fund sent us the usual sales information, which certainly proved interesting, but we want to learn the technical side."

"How soon do you think you can start producing the ship?" Marcan asked as they stepped into an elevator that took them into the upper floors.

"If we decide that the ship is what we seek, we can start producing it in a year and a half," James said.

Marcan raised an eyebrow, "That's quite fast for a completely new design!"

James Weston smiled slightly, "Yes it is, but we are in a hurry and, besides, we don't have many orders holding us back from this project."

"Can I ask about this installation?" Marcan asked.

James smiled, "What do you want to know?"

"Where did it come from? You company is only a few months old and this construction ship is at least a hundred years old," Marcan said.

"Over two hundred to be exact," James corrected. "This installation had been abandoned for a few years until Alana Vera bought it and brought us in. This was originally the main construction ship of the Raddlett and Rayburn before they went down. And to correct you somewhat, Vera Industries has been around for two years now even if it is only a few months since we really started to market our products."

"Doesn't such an old technology hold you back?" Marcan asked.

They had exited the elevator and were now walking along a richly carpeted corridor past several closed doors. There was one open door at the end of the corridor and Marcan suspected that that was where they were heading.

"Not really," James answered, "most of the old equipment had been scavenged long ago. The mining equipment and the processing plant were all this ship had when we came in. All the other things Vera bought or had built in here. But now, let me take you to meet Ms Vera herself."

Marcan fell silent as they entered through the open door and came into a big round room. The far wall was one huge window into the space around and he could see the magnificent gas giant looming only a few ten thousand kilometres away. It was clear that the window doubled as a giant computer screen, since there were some readings in the lower right corner and one object hurtling through the upper reaches of the planet's atmosphere was marked with a slowly moving blue square right in the middle of the window. Marcan guessed that the object was a mining 'bot, an unmanned ship designed specifically to harvest precious gasses and minerals from the atmosphere of gas giants.

When Marcan was able to turn his eyes away from the imposing view, he saw that the round room was furnished with a long table and several leathern chairs around it and a wide soft couch in front of the great window. The only other person in addition to Marcan and James was a beautiful blonde in her thirties with soft facial features. She moved around the big table and walked to him.

"Welcome, Commander Rayger. I'm Alana Vera, the owner and president of this company," the woman said. Unlike her soft appearance her voice held a note of determination, which Marcan should have expected, knowing that the woman was an ex-mercenary and a bounty hunter. "Please, come to sit and admire this great view," she said and took Marcan and James to the wide couch.

Marcan returned her greeting as he followed the woman closer to the large window. He took another look outside and saw that the mining 'bot had already travelled several hundred kilometres. Then he sat down on the soft, leather-covered couch and found it unpleasantly yielding under his weight. He felt like a clasp-knife with his knees up on his eye-level as his bottom sank into the couch. Then he noticed how Alana and James stretched out their feet so that they practically lay on the couch, instead of sat. He quickly corrected his own posture.

With Alana sitting between Marcan and James, the two men could not see each other, and it bothered Marcan. He liked seeing the people he talked with. Even to see the woman, he had to turn his head sideways, which, in the long run, could prove painful and was certainly annoying.

After a short moment of studying the view, Alana said, "Tell me, Commander Rayger, how do you find your new ship?"

Marcan was slightly confused, "What do you mean, Ms Vera?"

Alana Vera smiled, "If we are to start producing the ship and selling it to pilots out there, I want to know how they will find it. I'd like to hear you describe the ship's good and bad qualities as you see them."

Marcan took a moment to collect his thoughts before he answered, "I think it is the best one-man ship I have flown during my career. In the military, I used to fly the light fighters and learned to like the superior manoeuvrability of those ships. I tried to fly an Asp Explorer and had a short fling with a Wolf Mk II, but they were too bulky for my style of flying."

Alana nodded, "What about Viper Mark II? What makes this ship better than Faulcon deLacy's new star product?"

Marcan considered it for a moment, "I haven't flown the new Viper, but I know that it is not a match for Castor in manoeuvrability even if it's acceleration is greater. Also, Castor is the bigger ship, the biggest ship still controllable by a single pilot."

"You find that important? Being able to fly all alone?" the woman asked, surprising him.

Marcan nodded slowly, "Yes. Although I have had two great co-pilots to work with, I prefer to stay alone, the stars my only company."

"And the ship AI, certainly?" Alana asked with a slight smile.

Embarrassed by his overtly poetic turn of phrase, Marcan nodded, "Yes, of course." After a short pause, he asked, "Ms Vera, are you really going to try to fight the market with such a big manufacturer as Faulcon deLacy?"

Alana gave a short laugh, "No, certainly not! I just wanted to know how this ship is different from the market leaders. Our product had to have something special in order to make people buy it. We don't have the resources to start battling with the big ones, but even a small company needs a lead product."

Marcan realised that she was right. There were numerous small manufacturing companies in the human space and most of them never became widely known because they had not been able to arouse anyone's interest. Bankruptcies were common and bigger companies usually bought those that somehow managed to grow. The company that started to manufacture Castor, however, would instantly get some renown simply because of their connection to the late Professor Bardoff. And Marcan considered the ship-design itself such that it would attract many pilots who, like him, preferred highly manoeuvrable spaceships. That led him to his next question.

"What other ships are you manufacturing?" he asked.

Alana Vera turned her eyes to the outside view, "We have some special projects under way. We acquired the design rights from late Raddlett and Rayburn and have sold a few newly built Mambas. It seems, however, that this ship will not be as popular as it once was and we have started producing a new version of it, Mamba Mk II. However, as of yet we have only one client for them who buys every such ship that we can make, and it may be that we will not start marketing it to the public in the near future. Other than that, we have some projects in the works, but no actual production."

Marcan smiled, "So this deal about Castor is very important to you, then?"

Alana turned her eyes back to him, "Yes, it is important to us, but not only because we need a lead product, but also because it was my mother's last design and the only one that I can acquire the rights to. Still, I need to see what it is like before we can talk business."

At exactly that moment, there was a muffled beep-sound and James, who had been quiet thus far, reached for his inside pocket and brought out a small datapad. He glanced at the screen before he said, "It seems that we have some preliminary data available now, Ms Vera."

"Bring it on the screen," Alana said impatiently.

Marcan watched as a large portion of the large window was filled with small text and various figures that he understood nothing about. He saw that there were some references to the thruster powers, hull stress factors and such things, including mass division. Then, another part of the window was filled with colour images from the interiors of the ship, showing the intricate reliefs and statuettes that decorated it and the living quarters. As these pictures and text drew their attention, a large hologram appeared above their heads, depicting Castor from outside. The hologram Castor turned and twisted around as if in a shipyard sales ad.

After a few minutes of studying the data, Alana said; "This is not a trader's outfit in this ship."

Marcan cleared his throat, "Yes, well, I have had to visit some unsavoury places in the recent weeks and needed some weaponry."

"What is this pulse laser you've got here? It had higher performance figures than the standard 5mw Pulse Laser," Alana continued.

"It is the standard model, but I had a gifted mechanic as a co-pilot recently and he beefed it up a little. The main difference is the slightly faster shooting rate," Marcan explained.

There was a sign of sudden interest in the woman's eyes, "Who was he? This is excellent job; the strain factor is hardly greater than in the standard set-up. Where is he now? I might consider hiring him!"

Marcan shook his head, "I don't know. The last I heard, Petr bought his own ship, an Adder. If you are serious about this, I can give you what information I have on my computer."

"Please do," Alana Vera said with her eyes fast on the data screen, "Gifted mechanics are hard to find." Then she said, "I have to say that mother really surpassed herself with this ship, this is better than I expected! And the unconventional appearance is just a bonus."

Marcan smiled again, "Then you are ready to talk business with my employers?"

The woman nodded, "Yes, we are. But do you happen to know what kind of a deal they are expecting? How much do they want for the license? Or could I persuade them to sell all the rights to me?"

Marcan shook his head, "I know very little of what they are driving for here, but I got the feeling that they are interested in quick income, so full rights could be possible. After all, as I understand the Bardoff's Trust Fund had little reason to exist anymore, so I suspect that they will be milking all they can before discontinuing the fund."

Then the data on the screen changed and showed more seemingly interesting numbers and diagrams. While Alana and James were reading the text, Marcan looked past the glowing letters into the space beyond. He could now see two mining 'bots in the gas giant's outer reaches, racing against the intense gravity that tried to pull them down.

"What is this?" Alana asked suddenly. "Have you spotted these locking mechanisms and the extra passage?"

Marcan looked at the figures again and saw a blueprint that showed a part of Castor's hull. It was from the topside and Marcan had to admit that he had never bothered to look there. It seemed that there was a triangular area in the hull with strange grooves.

"What is that?" he asked after a futile minute of trying to figure it out himself.

Alana's brow furrowed, "I don't know for sure, but I think this may be some kind of a facility for this ship to lock in with another ship. There is a hatch through the hull here, through which someone could enter the other ship or come out of it."

Marcan was once again reminded of Polydeuces. It seemed clear to him that this had to do with Castor's brother. Perhaps the two ships had been built so that they could be linked together. It would certainly explain why Castor missed the other ship as much as he did; they had been designed to work together from the beginning and it was not just the effect of the half-mad programming of the AI by the utterly mad professor.

"This may have something to do with Polydeuces," he said finally after he had re-checked his reasoning for three more times.

"Polydeuces?" Alana Vera asked, "The Trust Fund never informed us about anything called Polydeuces!"

"It's another ship," Marcan explained, "designed at the same time Castor was. I suspect that they were designed to link with each other." He was slightly disappointed that Alana had known nothing of the other ship. He had hoped that the designer's daughter could have put them on its tracks, but now he had to settle on some other plan.

"Tell me all about it, Commander Rayger. James, do a search in my mother's database for this Polydeuces. See if you can find anything!" Alana Vera barked. She was clearly excited by this new turn of events.

"You could also copy my AI's memory banks and try to search them," Marcan suggested.

The ex-mercenary tilted her head, "Why cannot we study them directly in your ship?"

Marcan grimaced, "The AI is not too clearly organised. In fact, he is pretty confused as it is. Any search going too deep could damage it further, and I kind of like him the way he is." When Jones and Alana nodded in understanding, Marcan told them what little he knew about the other ship. He saw that the others were as disappointed with the lack of information he had as he had been with theirs.

Marcan spent the next few days aboard the manufacturing ship, admiring the efficiency of such a tightly packed corporation. Because the assembly lines were so close to the main offices and the research department, they could work together in a manner that was impossible in larger companies. There were think tanks that comprised of specialists from every level of ship production, from its initial design to the marketing of the final product. James Weston introduced him to all these miracles and was clearly proud of the workings of the company and Marcan had to admit that he would have been as well. Rarely had he seen such an organised group of people outside the Federal Military.

His departure was being delayed because the factory workers were taking apart Castor in order to investigate it further and replace the parts that had deteriorated too much during the almost ten years of inactivity aboard Professor Bardoff's Boa. It was a more thorough repair that Marcan would have had the credits to pay for, but James had promised it to him free of charge.

On the third day of his visit, he asked James whether he might be allowed to see one of the Mamba Mark IIs that they had built. It had been years since he had seen one of the Mark Is and he thought that it might be interesting to see what the bigger brother had to offer.

"I'm sorry, Marcan, but I cannot let you see any of them. The versions we are presently building are special custom designs solely for our customer and they pay us for a certain level of secrecy. However, if I may interest you in one of the new Mamba Mk Is, I'd be more than happy to show you a few. As you probably know, they almost supplanted Kraits when they came out, and would have if the company had not succumbed to financial troubles. Nowadays, there are so many ships that fall in the same market notch with them that bringing Mamba Mk I back should have been abandoned before it even began," James explained, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from their mystical clients and the special Mamba Mk IIs. For the time being, Marcan saw no reason to dig further and he settled on seeing the good old version of the ship.

The Mamba was one of the more boring types of ship in Marcan's opinion, being little more than a flat design with a sharp nose; a needle in fact, no more. But he knew that it had once been worthy of consideration for anyone searching for a small, fast and manoeuvrable ship. He might have owned one himself if they had been available when he had been searching for a decent ship. But now he was happy with Castor and was not in the market for a new ship. It was nice to see a ship that shone of newness, though, and the stories that James told him about the initial difficulties to bring the production on-line were interesting.

The next day James took him once again to meet Alana Vera. They had been informed that Castor was ready to fly again and that Marcan could leave anytime he wanted to. Meanwhile, the negotiations of the production license were well under way between Vera Industries and the Bardoff's Trust Fund and it was clear that a deal was going to be made. Marcan was glad because it would mean a hefty commission to himself.

The big office was as empty as it had been during the previous meeting, and Marcan deduced that the office staff was very small indeed. In fact, a starting company was wise to concentrate in swift production and good research; the time for multiple CEOs was a thing of distant future.

"Welcome again, Commander Rayger," Alana Vera greeted from the soft couch, peeking over its back.

"Please, call me Marcan, Ms Vera," Marcan said. He and James were on first-name basis and he wanted to extend that familiarity to the owner of the company as well. It never hurt to have friends on high places, after all.

"Certainly, Marcan. And do please call me Alana then as well," the beautiful, but tough woman answered.

Marcan nodded and smiled as he walked to the couch with James. They spent a moment admiring the view of the gas giant. Marcan saw that the mining 'bots were still being sent into the planet's outer reaches as there were now three squares following the far-away machines.

"I'm glad to report that we have struck a deal with your employers, Marcan. We start producing Castor under license, but there is a possibility that we may buy the full rights later," Alana Vera said at last.

Marcan smiled, "I'm happy to hear that, Alana. It is nice that you may build the ship that your own mother has designed."

"Yes, it is," Alana said softly. Then she looked at him in the eyes and smiled widely, "The BTF told us to pay you 15 000 credits for your part in these negotiations. How come you are worth so much?"

Marcan shrugged, "They are rather appreciative lot. They paid handsomely when I brought back news about the lost Boa and Bardoff's remains as well. But I have to say, Alana, that my fees are nothing compared to those that I have heard you drew when you were an active mercenary."

Alana Vera looked at him in the eye more seriously than she had only a moment earlier, "What do you know about my former career?"

Marcan smiled, glad again that he could surprise someone with his knowledge, "I saw you on Luyten 789-6 half a year ago, when you were working with Emic Troy."

The woman flinched visibly. Her eyes grew narrower and she glanced at James on her other side who seemed as surprised as she was. Then the woman turned back to look at Marcan and he saw that it might have been a mistake to reveal what he knew.

"How did you come to see me?" Alana asked, her voice colder than before.

Marcan frowned apologetically, "I'm afraid that I was working for the FMI at the time and I was sent to investigate the theft of certain military equipped ship. You appeared in the surveillance camera recordings."

"You don't work for the Federation any longer, then?" Alana asked.

"No," Marcan shook his head, "I met Emic Troy and his new friends and they refused to give me the stolen ship. At the same time I had grown tired of being used as a puppet by the FMI and I resigned as soon as I reached my base again."

"And what have you been doing after that?" Vera asked. Her voice was softening again and the dangerous gleam that Marcan had identified in her eyes was fainting.

Marcan shrugged, "I've worked as a trader, mainly." He was surely not going to mention the assassination of Mr Jones to anyone, even if it would be to lessen their suspicions of him working for the Federation. And it would not really lessen any suspicions since Mr Jones had worked for the Empire.

Alana Vera stood up from the couch and turned to look at him expectantly. "I thank you for your co-operation, Commander Rayger. By the time you reach your ship, the 15 000 credits will be in your account."

Marcan hesitated. Then he stood up, and asked carefully, "How about Polydeuces? Did you find out anything about it?"

Ms Vera frowned, "Yes, we did find something. I'll ask one of my secretaries to prepare a memo for you. If you'll excuse me now, Commander Rayger, I have some work to do."

Marcan nodded, "It was nice to meet you, Ms Vera." Then he turned and left the office. James did not follow him. He cursed silently as he headed down the corridor towards the elevator. It seemed that he had botched his chances of friendship with Vera Industries by the thoughtless revelation. He should have known that Vera, now that she had turned honest, did not like to be reminded of her more than shady past. No one on the other side of the law liked the FMI and they would never believe that someone who had worked for them might turn his coat completely.

By the time he reached the elevator, James Weston had reached him. "Marcan, wait," he said, and as Marcan turned to look at him, he continued, "I'm sorry but you must understand that Ms Vera does not want to be known for her shady past. She's trying to build a new life and a successful company here, and it is her biggest fear that everyone will know her only as a bounty hunter and a criminal."

Marcan nodded, "I understand. I'm very sorry that I mentioned it at all. I should have known better."

"Yes, well, it cannot be helped now. And, anyway, she will calm down eventually and I'm sure that she will not hold this incident against you. In fact, I'm sure that she would like me to talk to you about a small business proposition," James Weston said.

Marcan raised an eyebrow, "What kind of a business proposition?"

"I take it that you will be searching for the other ship, the one called Polydeuces?" Weston asked.

"Yes," Marcan answered, "The Bardoff's Trust Fund is paying well for it and although it seems almost hopeless, I will try to find it."

"Also, I understand that the Trust Fund knows even less about this second ship that we do?" Weston continued.

Marcan nodded again, "Yes. Bardoff was rather secretive with these ships, for some reason. They hoped that if we could find Christine Vera, the designer, we would find out more about it."

As the elevator took them towards the lower floors, James said to him quietly, "What would you say to a proposition that in case you do find the other ship you bring it directly to us without informing the Trust Fund?"

Marcan fell silent. The Trust Fund had paid him good money for his services thus far and he did not feel like betraying them. On the other hand, it seemed that the Fund would not be operative for much longer after they had drawn all the money out of Bardoff's heritage and he needed to think about his own future. "How much would you pay for such a betrayal?" he asked.

James Weston smiled, "Don't worry, you'd be well paid for such a humane service. After all, who do you think has more right to the ships, anyway; Bardoff's Trust Fund, that is only trying to make as money much as they can before folding, or Alana Vera, the designer's daughter?"

"How much?" Marcan asked simply. He knew that there was always a way to make any kind of turncoat behaviour seem good in one's own eyes, but he was not a man to try to cheat himself.

"If the Castor proves a success, we might be talking about sums of 100 000 credits and up," Weston said.

Marcan's eyes flashed, "I'm not interested in possible futures. I want an offer that will keep."

James Weston grimaced. He had realised that the simple friendship that they had begun to develop was now over. No friendship survived a betrayal unwounded. "Let's say 100 000 credits when you bring in the other ship," he said finally.

Marcan smiled, "One hundred thousand credits plus the Polydeuces itself, I would say."

"What would you do with it?" James asked, surprised.

"There is a link between those two ships that should be taken seriously. Bardoff programmed the AIs to work together and to be dependent of each other. That is the reason I want to have the other ship as well," Marcan explained. He decided that it would be meaningless to try to reason that he had promised Castor that he would find his brother for him. The wants of AIs did not count for much in people's minds. Unlike the various types of androids, they were not considered citizens under any legislature.

James frowned, "It's a deal. But of course we will take our time to study the ship thoroughly before we give it to you."

Marcan nodded, "Of course."

Half an hour later he was once again aboard Castor and took a long look around. The mechanics had not left a single mark of their presence in the ship. Even though they had taken everything apart and put it back together, there were no scrapes or other telltale signs in the interior design. He walked to the extra hatch that Vera's people had found in their investigation and was surprised that he had not seen it earlier. It was a simple sliding door with ladders behind, leading to the top of the craft. When the door was closed, it was easy to mix it up with the rest of the carvings in the walls, but anyone giving it a good enough look would easily see it. He peeked up the ladders and saw the air lock there. He did not bother to climb the ladder, knowing that there was nothing special there. Only when he was in the possession of the other craft, would the extra corridor become useful.

Then he returned to the bridge and sat down on the pilot's seat. "Castor," he called out.

"Yes, Commander Rayger?" said the strong, manly voice of the AI.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, commander, I am. They replaced some of my memory crystals and such, but not before they had copied what they contained onto the replacement crystals. In fact, I think I work better now than I have in a long time," Castor said.

Marcan nodded, "Good. By the way, I asked around for your brother."

"What about Polydeuces? Will we find him soon?" Castor said. His voice had changed in the same way as it always changed when he spoke of his brother and Marcan was happy. He had been afraid that the AI was now completely repaired and as dull as the rest of them.

Marcan smiled, "I don't know how soon, Castor, but we will find him. We'll leave as soon as Alana Vera's secretary has transmitted their memo about Polydeuces to you."

If Marcan had not known better, he would have sworn that he heard a happy sigh from the bridge speakers. But of course AIs did not sigh, ever. However special Castor was, he did not have a human's cognisance. Only androids and humans had that.

"Where are we heading next, Commander Rayger?" Castor asked then.

"We are not going to jump out yet, Castor. We are going to Nakasoneport in Reorte 1 and place a sector-wide wanted message on the message boards about Polydeuces. Then we'll travel to the next sector and do the same. Perhaps we will put an ad in the Universal Scientist or Frontier News as well," Marcan planned aloud. He was confident that they would find Polydeuces with such tactics. Pilots and traders would spread the word fast into the neighbouring sectors and beyond. It was only a matter or time before someone who had heard or seen something important would hear about it.