Marcan Rayger approached the table in the corner of one of the restaurants in the Kipley district. It was the same district that he had found his lodging from, and apparently the same one the Federal Military undercover agent lived in. The restaurant was on the other side of the great shopping mall, in the ground floor of one residential building and it professed the ages old brick-wall decor that was supposed to make it look like a historical inn of some sort. However, the attempt was undermined by the modern customers, the relief facilities, and the modern beverage tabs.

The table that Marcan was approaching was meant to four or five people. There was a round couch on the wall side of it and two free chairs on the side that opened to the rest of the restaurant. The single person at the table had chosen to sit on the couch and was looking at the patronage with slight interest. He had not yet noticed Marcan approaching him and thus the former FMI agent had plenty of time to regard him.

The local agent was a man of some sixty or seventy years old, and had some first signs of impending greyness in his hair. His skin was very pale, revealing that he had not spent much time under real sunlight. Having born on Mars, Marcan had spent a lot of his youth outdoors under the artificially intensified sun. The vast mirror system that situated between the fourth planet and Sun had intensified the light to almost as strong as it was on Earth.

The middle-aged agent's nose was a fat one, with large nostrils. His cheeks were fat, as was his body. Marcan wondered how long had it been since anyone from the Federal Military had seen their agent, to allow him to get so out of shape. The plate in front of the overweight agent was decorated with a thick slab of meat with fat sauce and some spiced vegetables. The agent had not had time to take a bite yet, so Marcan was not as late as he had feared.

He and Petr had been visiting the district that was one step above the Kipley. The search-programs that he had initiated the day before had not yet completed their work, but one finding had indicated the there was something worth taking a look at in the other district. It had been a fruitless journey, however, and they had returned to their hotel several hours later, tired and frustrated. Marcan had barely had time to take a quick shower before going out again, this time to meet the agent who had left a message for him at the hotel.

Well, despite his weigh and seeming inefficiency, the agent had proved himself capable enough to at least locate his lodging, Marcan thought as he attracted the other man's attention with an exaggerated nod. The double-chinned agent noticed him and hefted his weigh from the couch to stand up to greet him.

"Major Rayger, I presume?" the fat man asked.

Marcan nodded, "I am. And you must be Dave Varad?"

The fat man nodded and sat back down after a brief handshake. Marcan sat down as well, hiding the fact that he wiped the sweat from his right hand on the tablecloth as he did so. He took a quick look at the holoscreen on the tabletop and ordered himself a hot plateful of some local aquatic animal's meat on a bed of sliced and fried turnips as well as some dry white wine.

Then he looked into the wet blue eyes of Dave Varad. "Mr Varad, I understand that our common employer contacted you and told you what I am looking for?" he said.

"Yes, they did," Varad answered. "To tell the truth, I had not expected to hear from that old report of mine after I sent it. In fact, I was very much under the notion that none of my reports were ever read or otherwise processed."

The fat agent did not smile when he said that, but Marcan could not help himself from doing so. What the fat man had said had revealed that he had been sent here in the frontier under the understanding that no one wanted to see him again, or that he at least believed so himself. Marcan wondered how many of the so-called agents in the far systems were just ex-soldiers who had somehow annoyed their superiors. Whatever the case may have been, Marcan was now surprised that the man had not just bought himself a ride out of the systems many years ago and left the military behind for good.

"Well," he said after he had managed to get the smile off from his face, and continued, "this report did get processed at least now. Can you tell me anything else about the small fighter that you saw, other than the things that you mentioned in that old report."

The older man drew his fat lips into a semblance of a smile, "I read that old report when I heard that you were coming and I have to say that I barely remember writing it. As far as I remember, I saw the ship landing to Edmondson starport on the planet itself and then later brought to this station. I kept a tag on the local flight control back then and I don't think that it ever left this station again. For all I know, it is still here, unless someone took the trouble of smuggling it out."

Marcan's brow furrowed as he said, "You said that you kept tag on the flight control. Is it not possible that the ship left after you stopped?"

Dave Varad shrugged, "I stopped only a couple of years ago when they upgraded the systems and I did not have the means to break into the new ones. And after I heard about your coming, I have been keeping an eye on the traffic again just in case. I'm quite sure that the ship is still in here."

Marcan nodded, "How about these six people?" He picked up his datapad and placed it on the table between them. On the screen there was the only picture of Victor Shelanko that he had received from the Bardoff's Trust Fund. It was ten years out of date, but the ageing function of the datapad was able to produce an approximation of the man's present appearance.

As the fat man looked at the various pictures of the missing crewmembers, the dinner that Marcan had ordered was delivered by a conventional servant droid on three wheels. It placed the plate and the drink in front of Marcan and wheezed away. He looked at the slightly reddish meat for a moment before taking the first bite. He mixed it only with a tiny amount of the sauce because he wanted to taste the meat itself. After a few chews, he decided that he liked what he tasted. The few exotic spices in the sauce made the meat taste even better.

"I cannot be sure about having seen these people. They are all quite nondescript and I would not pay any attention to them unless I knew who to look for," Varad said.

Marcan frowned. He had known that finding the six murderers would not be easy and that it was improbable that Varad would know them, but he had still hoped for some clue, however frail. His search on the local computer systems had been as unhelpful. It had been a shock to him to find how incomplete the files on the local citizens were as many of them missed 3-D images altogether. In Federal systems nothing like that could ever happen. Now his only hope was that the searches on closed warehouses would bring up something more than hints that lead into dead-ends.

"But you do have sources you can check out, I trust?" Marcan proposed desperately.

Varad nodded, "I have some friends I could ask."

"Please, do so immediately," Marcan said.

The idea of an immediate action seemed to shock the fat man, as he looked wide-eyed back and forth between his still relatively full plate and Marcan before he reached for his comm-link. Marcan noted the proceedings with gratification and turned his attention to his own plate. He listened to the other man speaking with his sources and observed him sending the ID images over to them for the next few minutes. Then Varad put away the comm-link and wolfed down the last traces of food from his plate.

"How long will it take before we'll hear from your associates?" Marcan asked as he sipped his wine. He had found it satisfactorily dry.

Varad shrugged, which made the fat of his body bounce up and down for a few times as if he was made of jelly. "It could be only a few minutes, but also a day or two. It depends on how visible these people you are searching for are," he said.

"But you do have contacts in all the four districts in this station?" Marcan asked.

"Yes, I do, as well as in the other settlements in this system. It has been difficult to keep my identity secret while having such a large variety as it comes to the associates and friends I have made here. But as I'm working as a merchant in unusual wares, I can almost plausibly explain why I hang around with both company CEOs and thieves and all that falls in between," Dave Varad explained in short stretches between mouthfuls.

Marcan had time to finish his meal and wine completely and watch the fat man wolf down another plateful before Varad's comm-link beeped. Varad turned his eyes to it and brought it in front of his face so that Marcan could not see what the caller looked like. However, he heard everything that was said.

"You have something for me, Tom?" Dave asked from the communication link.

"Yes, I looked over the material that you sent me and I think one of the people lives in this district. He's a rich man and seldom goes out, but I'm pretty sure it's him," a small voice from the comm-link answered.

Varad nodded, "Ok, send me an encrypted file about it as soon as you can. I don't want to talk about this on an insecure line."

"You'll have it in five minutes. There is not much I can say," the other voice answered and the communication ended.

The approach into the Davidson District, the most expensive one, did not differ much from the one Marcan had experienced when he had first entered the Kipley district. The elevator-shuttle was similar and it entered a similar shopping mall as it had on the other districts that he had visited. Only the view was different. Instead of high buildings cramped close together and streets busy with masses of people, there were more natural green plants and vast gardens around many buildings outside the very neighbourhood of the shopping mall. Marcan assumed that on the streets one could almost imagine walking on planetside, on a road surrounded by trees and bushes, if one did not look up to see the metallic ceiling a few hundred metres higher.

Forcing himself to turn his attention away from the view, which still lost to the one he had witnessed in the bubble-worlds, Marcan looked at the other passengers of the shuttlecraft. Petr was standing beside him, but in addition to them, there were only three other people heading for the district. There were two women and one man, all of whom wore more expensive clothing than Marcan could, or even cared to afford. It was clear that the three people wondered why Marcan and Petr were in the elevator-shuttle with them as they intentionally pretended not to see them.

The reason they were there was the information that Dave Varad had been able to dig out for them. Marcan glanced at his datapad and turned the screen on. What appeared on it was the face of a man who looked suspiciously identical to the picture of Victor Shelanko that Marcan had got from the Bardoff's Trust Fund. It was not exactly identical to the conjecture images that his ageing program had estimated him to be after almost ten years, but close enough to give reason for a more thorough examination. The name given to the face on the upper left corner of the screen was Lance Hendriks, though, but it meant nothing. In the frontier systems one could go around by any name and no further questions were asked.

Still, Marcan could not be certain that this Lance Hendriks was really Victor Shelanko and he knew that he would have to see the man and speak with him to find out if he was hiding anything of his past. He looked at the picture on the screen again. It was a face of an older man; his face was already lined with the signs of age. There was a look of sadness in his eyes that was captivating and made Marcan wonder what had happened to the man to trouble him so in his later years. Perhaps it was the years that he had been hiding from the long arms of the justice or perhaps he had come to understand the wretchedness of the mass murder that he had committed onboard Argo II.

The little data that Varad's agent had been able to provide about the man who called himself Lance Hendriks, revealed that he lived almost alone in one of the large mansions in the Davidson district. Only rarely he left the confines of that vast establishment to visit one of the local restaurants or speciality stores. It bothered Marcan that the data did not tell which speciality stores Hendriks was interested in. Also, there was no mention whether he tended to eat alone in the restaurants or if he was with someone. All in all, the data was bad, but he could not really expect better on such a short notice.

A moment after he and Petr had stepped out of the elevator-shuttle, his datapad beeped. Marcan took a glance at the screen again and found that his snooper-programs had found out Lance Hendriks's address. The new information also indicated that the elderly man had lived in the orbital city for the past nine years and all that time in the same residence. Also, the data traffic in and out of his residence indicated that he was not living alone, as did the food bills. The names of the other occupants were unknown. The data that the snooper-programs had been able to gather of the man did not indicate that he had leased any warehouses, however, and Marcan frowned at that. In every other aspect it started to seem that Lance Hendriks was the man they were looking for.

"You got the address?" Petr asked then, interrupting his thoughts.

Marcan nodded, "Yes. And it seems that this Hendriks could be the man we are looking for. Now we have to device a way to get to meet him personally."

Petr tilted his metallic head, "That can prove complicated, if he is as secretive as your pal Varad told you. We'd have to know what his interests are in order to be able to offer him something that he might want and draw him out."

Marcan nodded again, "Yes. My programs could not find any such information from the local system. It appears that he buys most of his wares personally and not over the computer market. I think we will have to just try to get to meet him the old-fashioned way."

"You mean go up to his front door and knock?" Petr asked with an amused frown.

"I guess so."

"I doubt he'll let us in," Petr pointed out.

It turned out that Petr had been too pessimistic. At the front gate - the house and the surrounding garden were actually surrounded by a low stonewall - Marcan pushed the door chime and waited for the answer to come from the house. There was a small speaker by the gate as well as a small numeric pad for security codes. No camera was visible, but Marcan doubted that there really was not one.

"Who are you?" was the question that was suddenly emitted from the small speaker. It was older female voice.

Marcan smiled for the invisible cameras, "I'm Commander Ray Macros and I'd like to meet Lance Hendriks." It was the same alias he had used once before when confronting the police officers at the Lave Station.

"What do you want from him?" the voice asked.

"I've got some information that he might be interested in buying," Marcan lied. It was the best he and Petr had been able to think of.

"What sort of information?" the voice demanded.

Marcan kept his expression rigid. He knew that if the unseen interrogator saw any sign of hesitation in him, he would not let them in, or even discuss with them for longer. It was a gamble that he was going to attempt and he had no way of knowing what was going to happen after his next announcement. It might even bring the local police after them.

But, as calmly as he could, Marcan pronounced briefly, "It's about certain Professor Bardoff."

There was a long moment of silence after the declaration but Marcan kept facing the closed gate. He did not want to reveal his nervousness by glancing towards Petr or by otherwise fidgeting around. He hoped that if Lance Hendriks was the man they were looking for, he would not call the police in fear that they would reveal his bloody history to them. If he was not the man they were looking for, they would have lost nothing but a little time. But the time that they now had to wait for an answer revealed to Marcan that they had indeed come to the right place. If the people inside had not recognised the professor's name, they would have answered immediately.

Then the gate in front of them swung open and Marcan was able to forget his earlier fears about police or mistaken identities. The opening gate brought with it a whole list of new dangers. Considering Victor Shelanko's past, it could not be put beyond his ability that he would just kill both Marcan and Petr in order to hide his secret. On the other hand, Marcan hoped that the older man would realise that no one would be as stupid as to enter a bear's cave without some kind of a protection. In this case the protection would be that Marcan and Petr were possibly not the only ones who knew his secret past.

The obviously expensive gravel path that lead to the big white house led them through a finely-taken-care-of garden with various green trees and a multitude of other colourful plants. There were even benches in the garden to sit on and small statues to admire. Marcan wondered whether Victor Shelanko had paid for the design or if he had bought the place ready made.

They had not even come close to the main doors to the house when they opened and a young woman stepped out. She had a brown, short hair and round face, but she was otherwise lithe. He estimated that she must be no more than twenty-five years old.

"Greetings, Commander Macros and..." she let the sentence hang.

"My co-pilot Petr," Marcan introduced.

"An android?" the young woman asked. Her voice was very soft and delicate, matching her seemingly fragile figure.

"Yes, Ma'am," Petr answered rather unnecessarily.

The woman gave him a long glance before she introduced herself. "I'm Sadie, Lance Hendriks's daughter. He asked me to bring you over to his favourite spot in the garden."

Marcan nodded and they followed the young woman to the part of the garden that lay on the left side of the main building. From a good distance, they could see an elderly man sitting on a bench next to a small fountain surrounded by small white statues that represented various kinds of small animals. The man sat alone and seemed so frail that it made Marcan doubt whether the man could ever have killed anyone. But he knew that Victor Shelanko had once been brave enough to try to build up a new anachronistic society with Professor Bardoff, and a man who braved to attempt such a thing had to have some inner strength. Maybe even enough of it to kill dozens of people.

When they got nearer, Sadie Hendriks said to her father, "Dad, that commander is here."

The older man raised his gaze from the fountain and looked at the visitors. His face was lined, but his hair still retained its dark colour. His eyes looked from Marcan to Petr and then returned again to Marcan. While they exchanged looks, Sadie turned around and walked back towards the big house, leaving the two men and the single android alone by the fountain.

Marcan stepped forward and greeted the man with a simple gesture, and said, "I'm Commander Ray Macros and this is my friend Petr."

"You said you had something to tell me, commander," Lance Hendriks said simply giving each of them a glance.

Marcan nodded, "Yes."

"Then tell me. Who is this Professor Bardoff you mentioned?"

Marcan kept his face expressionless at the comment, but could not ignore it. Could it really be possible that this man in front of him was actually not Victor Shelanko, but someone else entirely who just happened to be curious enough to hear what he had to say?

"He was an eccentric man who wanted to build up a society that would worship the gods of the ancient Greece. He and his crew were killed ten years ago and the murderers have escaped justice until this day," Marcan said, carefully examining the effect his words drew forth from the aged man. But Lance Hendriks's expression revealed nothing.

"And how does this affect me, commander?" the man asked.

Marcan smiled in a way that he hoped would make the man believe that he knew a lot more than he revealed. "You moved here over nine years ago, not long after the professor and his entire expedition disappeared. Have you ever heard the name Victor Shelanko?"

The still sitting man shook his head innocuously, "I cannot say that I have."

Marcan let his smile widen to let the man see that he had seen through his bluff. He had not actually, but he wanted to keep up appearances. He sat down on the bench as well, but kept a safe distance to the other man. "This Victor Shelanko killed the entire crew of the Professor Bardoff's ship and escaped with his accomplices and two space craft. You should know that he used an especially brutal method of killing the innocent settlers by adding certain lethal gas into the air circulation system. I was there to see what it had done to all those who were left behind, men, women and children," Marcan said, his eyes locked onto the fountain.

His description caused Lance Hendriks to remain silent for a moment, but it did not break his facade. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said simply.

Marcan grimaced at the memories that came back to him when he continued his description in his attempt to reach the parts of the older man that had not yet been corrupted by his evil deed. "I entered one of the living quarters to find the only occupant on the bathroom floor. It seemed that he had collapsed at the door, trying to escape the gas that poured into the room. He had scraped the door with his fingernails in his death throes. I don't think he ever knew why it happened to him. There were dead children as well, in the other quarters, but I don't want to tell you what they looked like, clutching onto their mothers for safety."

When Marcan turned to look at the aged man he saw that there were tears on his lined face. It seemed that his words had broken through, after all. "Why did you do it?" he asked softly, but sternly.

Lance Hendriks, once known as Victor Shelanko, wiped the tears from his eyes with a shaking hand and looked back at them. Petr was standing by Marcan, his eyes lifeless. Then the wrought man straightened his back and drew in a long breath. "It is not all the way you think, Commander Macros. There is a reason why it was done."

Marcan snorted, "Then explain the reasons that made you to kill all those people!"

Lance closed his eyes and rested his head back for a moment. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the non-existent sky as he explained, "It was all going well for the first part of our journey. Professor Bardoff had excited us all with his visions of a better place to live in and by the idea that the archaic lifestyle of our ancestors was going to bring out the best in us all. He kept promising that we would find a suitable planet soon and start our own little community and worship the ancient gods.

"But as the search for that new home prolonged there began to be some problems between some of the colonists and some started to doubt the part that the old gods had in Bardoff's plans. The closed quarters and few chances for entertainment started to get on people and more and more arguments started over more and more mundane issues. The only way the professor was able to keep the people calm was to give speeches every evening. He had an electric way of speaking that mesmerised everyone who stayed to listen. Unfortunately, or fortunately, not all did.

"It was then that someone observed that Bardoff was not revealing everything about his plans to the settlers. There were several file systems on the computers that were inaccessible to the rest of the crew, and, in fact, most of the people were not even allowed to use computers or any other modern convenience. They demanded that Bardoff must open the files for everyone to study but he reclined. The fact that the commanding personnel of the ship had separate quarters, inaccessible to the rest of the crew and the settlers only made things worse. Not even Bardoff's speeches could calm people down after that.

"As I was one of the commanding personnel, people came to me with their questions and demands when Bardoff and the others refused to help them. I may have been the weak link, but I myself had trouble understanding why Bardoff wanted to keep things secret from the others, even me. I promised to some that I would take a look at things and I did. There were usually at least two of us officers in the secured area at the same time, but I found a way to enter Bardoff's quarters and access his computer undetected. I was unable to open those files myself, but I managed to copy them to a non-secure file system.

"Later, with the help of some others in the crew, we managed to open those files and it was only then that we found out how crazy Professor Bardoff really was. Thus far, everyone had believed that he was just an idealist with a vision of a better way of life and with his speeches he had convinced us all that it was really the best way. But the secret files revealed that he was actually programming an AI to act as our god once we had founded the new colony."

Victor Shelanko shook his head in dismay as he continued: "No, it was not an ordinary AI at all. The professor had thrown away every security measure and safety rule that normally form the basis of any AI and he was trying to make it as omnipotent as a mechanic entity could be made into. The specifications were all outside normal charts as he had given the entity more independence and resources that any AI should have.

"But the purpose of that AI, which was to act as a god to all of us was the thing that changed everything. A couple of days later, one of the officers found Bardoff dead in his quarters. Those who had believed in his vision the most, including all of us officers, arranged a complete funeral ritual for our dead leader, but all through that ceremony I could not think of nothing else than the fact that it had to have been a murder, not a natural death. Those of us who knew about the contents of the secret files suspected one another. Most of them suspected me, of course, since I was the only one of us who had access to the secured area. But I did not do it.

"I checked the things out further one night later by entering the professors quarters and accessing his computer again while the other officers were either sleeping or on the bridge. I found out that he had almost finished programming the AI and that it consisted of two separate systems that, if brought together, would complete it. It was while I was attempting to access some further files that I heard the alarm klaxons go off. I tried to call the others to find out what was happening, but no one answered. I asked the same questions from the central computer and found out that there was a mutiny going on outside the secured area. I checked the camera views and saw that some people were wrecking the computer consoles on the bridge. Then I saw people starting to crumble on the floor in heaps in the other parts of the ship and that some others wore air masks.

"Alarmed, I ran to the nearest emergency cabinet right inside the professor's quarters and took out an air mask for myself. Then I turned to view the security camera views again and saw that the masked people were heading for the elevator that would bring them upstairs. I panicked as I suspected that they were coming to see if anyone had survived and finish us off if we had. As the central computer still worked, I shut off the power from the elevator, thus stopping anyone from coming up again. I had no idea if they still had a working terminal somewhere that they had not destroyed and which they could use to turn the power back on.

"All of us officers knew about the second flight deck that held two ships that were enough to save the officers if necessary. I opened the door to get to them and ran to examine the other quarters for any other survivors. I found the other officers dead in their beds. Then I ran to the flight deck and entered the small fighter there and escaped from the ship, hoping to find help from somewhere."

Victor stopped relaying his story to them for a short while. He looked at the fountain that kept spewing water around. Marcan looked at him and tried to figure out if he was telling the truth. The story seemed consistent enough, even if it was a complicated one, but the man had had ten years to make it up.

"But you did not go for help in the end," Marcan said. "Why did you change your mind?"

Victor Shelanko looked at him. "I was going to jump away as soon as I got clear of the Argo II, but once I was outside, I realised that some others could be trying to get away as well. I decided to hang around for a while to see if anyone else was coming out, and eventually one ship did. I hailed it, but it just turned around and took a shot at me. I fought them, all the time trying to ask them why they had done what they had done, but they did not answer. Finally, I managed to destroy them and I was once again alone in the space. I tried hailing Argo II for a while and then I tried to dock in, but as there was no one inside to open up the bay doors and the automatic systems did not seem to work, I had to leave.

"It was soon after I had jumped away from that system that I realised that I was the only person in the whole galaxy who knew where the ship was and without me, no one would ever know what a horrible thing had happened aboard it. I guess it was because I wanted people to remember the good sides of Professor Bardoff, instead of his madness and insane plans that I decided to just disappear and try to forget all about what had happened. I hoped that Argo II would soon crash the planet that it was orbiting and destroy the rest of the evidence. Then I found out that Bardoff had hidden a treasure aboard his personal fighter and I decided that I would use it to build myself a family somewhere where we would never be found."

"And that's why you came here, into a system that is guaranteed not to be visited by anyone from the federation who might know you?" Petr asked.

The older man nodded, "Yes, I came here, adopted Sadie and a couple of other children and raised them the best I could, never telling them where I had got the money I spent to educate them and never letting them know what kind of a massacre shadowed my past."

"And you are really the only survivor from that ship and thus we have only your word that what you say is the truth of what happened aboard that ship?" Petr continued.

Victor Shelanko nodded, "Yes, you have only my word and the evidence that you found from the ship itself to prove my story. But I guarantee that I have no reason to lie to you."

Marcan frowned. The Bardoff's Trust Fund had promised him a nice sum of money if he brought the murderers to the justice, but now it seemed that there was a possibility that Victor Shelanko was only one of the victims and that all the guilty ones had died at Argo II. Still, he had only the man's own word to go by and he had no reason whatsoever to trust him. It could very well be that the other missing people were still hiding somewhere and Shelanko was just protecting them with his story and trying to make himself seem innocent to what had happened.

But there was also one other thing that could guide him in his decision whether to believe the man or not and it was his own eyes. He saw that the man had suffered; the lines of his face proved that much, as did the sorrow in his eyes. He also trusted that the tears that Victor had shed during his story had been genuine. And there was the fact that he had raised and educated orphans with the money that he had found from the small fighter. Even though the last point could be just another lie, the others were enough to make Marcan trust the man, at least for the moment.

He smiled when he realised how calmly he could analyse the situation. If he had not recently spent time with Sheila, who had once again taught him to think before acting, he might have picked the older man up by his collar and kept his head underwater by the fountain until he had spilled out all that he knew. But Sheila's effect was still with him and he had been able to consider the situation and act only after that. Once again he wondered when he would meet the woman again and whether she was ever going to leave the military and come to him.

He had to shake his head to drive the image of the blond woman from his mind and concentrate on the matter at hand. Even if the former officer aboard the Boa was innocent to the heinous crimes committed there, he still had something that Marcan was looking for and which might earn him a lot of money if he managed to deliver it to the right people.

"Where is that light fighter that you took from the ship?" Marcan asked finally, when Victor had had some time to calm himself down.

"The fighter? What do you want it for?" the man asked.

Marcan smiled, "I promised someone that I would find it. And there are people who want to see it in order to start manufacturing a whole line of those ships."

Victor's eyes narrowed at that, "There must be some plans of that fighter somewhere. You should not need the ship itself to start producing it."

Marcan shrugged, "Professor Bardoff took care that no final plans were left with the designers or with the manufacturers themselves. The prototype is therefore necessary."

"Before I tell you that," Victor began, looking at him intently, "you must tell me what has been done with Argo II? What is to be done to the AI that professor Bardoff was programming?"

Marcan was taken aback by the sudden question. "I don't know what the plans are for the old Boa Freighter. The Trust Fund will probably sell it. As far as I have understood, they want to turn all the late professor's property into liquid capital as quickly as they can."

"What Trust Fund is that?" the aged man interrupted.

Marcan frowned slightly, "Bardoff's Trust Fund. They are the ones who have been examining the ship once it was found."

"To what purpose do they need so much capital?" Victor Shelanko inquired.

Marcan shrugged, "I don't know. I presumed that they are working for the late professor's relatives and finishing up their operation."

"You speak of them as 'they'," the man said, "does that mean that you are not working for them?"

Marcan shook his head, "No. I'm working for them, but only in this one case. My real name is Marcan Rayger and I was the one who found the ship in the first place. The Trust Fund offered me some money if I could find the surviving crew of Argo II and the lost light fighter."

The older man smiled sadly, "I suppose they wanted to find them and wreak vengeance for the manslaughter. I doubt I could prove my innocence to them. Tell me about the AI."

Marcan had to shake his head again, "I did not know about any AI other than the one in the medium fighter that I found in the landing bay through which you escaped. I presume the Trust Fund may know more now that they have studied the ship for over half a year." He did not tell anything about the way Castor had at first believed himself to be a god reincarnate. At the time he had thought that it was just a glitch caused by the years of deterioration and Bardoff's madness, but now that it seemed that the professor might have actually tried to build up a completely crazy AI, he had to check his reasoning. Perhaps it really was Castor that Bardoff had intended for the position of the colony's god. He did not mention it because it was clear that if Castor was the AI that Victor was talking about, he had survived from those programs and become a decent, if a little too independent, spacecraft AI. There was no reason to concern the old man with such details.

"If I give you the smaller fighter," Victor Shelanko began, looking seriously at both of them in turn. "I want you to make sure that the Trust Fund does not make the crazy AI operational. It is highly unstable, and given the sufficient resources, it could become a problem to all of us."

Marcan smiled reassuringly, "I will look into it, Mr Shelanko. You need not worry about it."

"Good. And may I trust you to keep quiet about my true identity as well?" Victor asked.

"I can see no reason why anyone should know about it," Marcan said and glanced at Petr who assured the same thing.

"Good," Victor said and stood up from the bench. "Please, follow me," he added and turned to walk back along the path towards the main building.

Marcan stood up as well and followed the long lost officer and Petr around the main building to the extensive back yard. As they walked, he looked around and tried to figure out what kind of a treasure Victor Shelanko had found from the fighter to allow him to live like this. The well-cared lawn and bushes, as well as the many white statuettes must have cost a fortune. There was nothing he could think of that could bring that much money on the open market unless it was highly illegal. Or perhaps Shelanko had lied to them and the real source of the money was something else entirely.

With the small doubt of the older man, Marcan became more careful and started to pay more attention to their surroundings. Not just the beautiful gardening but to the shadows that were cast here and there by the taller trees and other surroundings. He had had to leave his Sergam-10 laser pistol to his hotel-room in the Kipley district since they were not allowed to the better districts and he could have wound up in trouble if he had tried to smuggle one in. Without the weapon they would be quite defenceless if Shelanko was leading them into a trap. Marcan looked around to see if any garden tools were accessible in the vicinity. Knowing where to find something longer than one's arm would not hurt if they found themselves in a tight spot. Of course there were no gardening tools to be seen. Being as rich as Shelanko seemed to be, he could well afford the best garden droids on the market.

And, to Marcan's relief, the weary-looking man was not leading them into any kind of trap either. When they had walked to the garden behind the main building, Shelanko took them through vast double doors that lead into a wide sloping corridor under that building. It was wide enough to allow even a small spaceship to be taken through and Marcan wondered what they would find on the other side. He suspected that it could be a private landing bay, but the idea that the citizens of this district would all have such sounded too incredulous to him. Of course, with money one could buy anything. Still, such landing bays, if they existed, were probably a major smuggling route. It was possible that partaking into such an activity had earned Shelanko all the money that he seemed to have, for it was improbable that a small treasure aboard some private fighter could have provided the man for the past ten years.

But when they got to the bottom of the slope, Marcan saw that they had indeed been lead into a private landing bay. The exit chute was on the floor in the middle of a vast hall. There were three ships there, including one that seemed to be the one Marcan and Petr were looking for. It matched perfectly with the hologram that Marcan had seen, with its C-shape and upturned wings. Also the landing gear was clearly designed for docking with another small ship.

"I believe that one is the fighter you are looking for," Victor said simply, pretending not to notice their astounded expressions as they looked around the private hangar. "I give it to you for free against your promise not to mention my name or present location to anyone in the Federal space."

Marcan nodded, "You've got yourself a deal. No one will know where I found this."

"If you want, you can take it now through this chute," Victor said.

Marcan turned towards Petr; "I'll take it out. Could you go back to our hotel and clear our rooms and meet me at the commercial spaceport. We can then plan what we are going to do next."

Petr nodded, "Yes, I'll try to be as quick as I can." After he had said that, he turned around and left the hangar, climbing back up the slope that they had just descended.

Then Marcan turned and looked into Victor Shelanko's sad eyes, "Thank you, Mr Shelanko, for your help. I'll make sure that the AI you warned us about will never become a problem."

As the older man nodded, Marcan turned and walked to the small fighter. It was about as big as an Eagle Mk I and the pilot's seat was as cramped as they usually were in the smallest fighters. Still, as it was meant to dock with the bigger Castor, the pilot would not have to spend too long a time in the cramped quarters.

As he sat down in the cockpit, Marcan noted that there was no sign of the kind of decorations as there were aboard Castor. In fact, it seemed that they had all been removed intentionally since the metal plates showed signs of wear that indicated that some sort of decorations had been present.

But he did not stop to wonder such details for too long. He had finally found the ship that he had been sent to locate. Now it was time to dock it with Castor and get back to Vera Industries and after that to the offices of the Bardoff's Trust Fund. He could not wait to get his hands on the hefty rewards promised to him by those two companies.

As the landing bay doors on the floor opened, Marcan took the small craft down through it into the dimly lit space that was presently swivelling around wildly, as the landing bay was located in the bottom part of one of the turning and pivoting districts. He engaged the main thrusters, checked the amount of fuel and took the fighter a safe distance away from the orbital city. Then he turned back and headed towards the commercial spaceport, calling out for a landing permission.