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"Attack of the Graftonites By Steven Gordon"

THIS IS PART 1
MORE OF THIS COOL STORY TO COME AND REMEMBER THIS IS BY Steven Gordon

They were the most fearsome soldiers in the galaxy. People trembled at their name. The Graftonites. It was a curious world, Grafton II, an uninhabited, lush planet. It was several years before the first settlers started to notice something different about themselves. Their reflexes started speeding up. They could move and dodge more quickly, and of course, shoot more quickly as well. At first, that skill was only used for hunting. But as time passed and their new found abilities matured, word spread about what the Graftonites were capable of doing. The galaxy had a need for men and women like these. Suddenly, the life of a hard working pioneer no longer had an allure, compared to the life of adventure and excitement that the galaxy had to offer. A hundred years later, the three most common professions on Grafton was pretty set for centuries to come. In order of popularity: Bounty hunter. Mercenary. Killer. Graftonites grew exceedingly wealthy, but they never forgot their roots, always returning to the place they called home. Graftonites were feared throughout the civilized galaxy for their exceedingly quick reflexes. A good Graftonite gunman could take on four or five other soldiers, outdraw them, and kill them all before any could fire a shot. As individuals they were only a threat to those they had been hired to capture, or kill. But their real threat came in organization. A single Graftonite could take on five, or seven, or maybe ten enemies. But an army of Graftonites would be almost unbeatable. The Graftonites, fiercely independent, had never organized. Not until Mo Quandry came along. He was a tall, dark haired man, with a single scar running down the side of his face and a certain hardness in his brown eyes, a hardness uncommon even for a Graftonite. "My friends," he said, standing before a Grand Gathering of assembled Graftonites. "Our time has come! No longer will we be content with pocket change, running the minor errands of the galaxy. Why settle for a handful of credits when it can all be ours!" The crowd roared. "Let us take from the sheep what is rightfully ours!" he yelled. "Together, we will rule the galaxy!" He raised his foil, the traditional weapon of the Graftonites, in to the air. "Victory!" "Victory!" the crowd shouted back. They shouted it over, again and again, and it was obvious to all that a new day had arrived on Grafton II. Chapter 1 Who are the Graftonites? "Why do I always get the jello?" Superspy Clifford Croft made a grimace as he raised the plastiform container off the cafeteria cart. He watched it jiggle suspiciously as he shook it. "What's the problem, Croft, you're holding up the line," grumbled another spy named Preston behind him. "This is my problem," said Croft, holding up the jello. "We save trillions of lives every day, and this is the best the Agency can do for us. Why can't we get more high quality desserts?" "You're one of the Eight, why don't you ask the Chief?" Preston asked. "Maybe I will," said Croft. Preston was teasing him, of course. They both knew that the Chief was new, and one didn't toy with a new Chief. Croft slammed the jello down. "I will," Croft repeated. "Because there's no way I'm going to eat this-" He was interrupted by the bleeping of his wrist comm. He pressed the button. "Croft here. I thought I told everyone not to disturb me during lunch." "Don't take that tone with me, Croft," came a only slightly familiar craggly voice over the line. It was the Chief. "I need you in conference room A-8, immediately." "Right Chief," said Croft. He moved to sever the connection, then paused. "May I bring my jello?" When Croft entered conference room A-8, he saw a number of operatives there, as well as some unfamiliar people. Some were senior ranking military officers, and others were obvious civilians. It was obviously an interagency meeting. Only the Chief gave him an acknowledging hostile glare. Mitty Benchly was new to the job, but she had already taken an instinctive dislike to Croft. She was a shrewd, elderly looking woman with the eyes of a hawk. "Mr. Croft," she said, giving him a warning glare. "I trust you know the Secretary," she said, indicating a dignified, middle aged man sitting in a fine, five piece suit, flanked by aides. "Well, I know of the secretary," said Croft. "We're not on a first name basis." He nodded to the Secretary, who actually deigned to make eye contact with him and nod slightly in return. Croft raised a plastiform cup. "Some jello, Mr. Secretary?" "Have a seat," said the Chief sharply. "Lights!" The lights dimmed. "This briefing will be led by one of our up and coming analysts, Sylvia Tane," said the Chief , indicating a young blonde woman. "You may begin, Ms. Tane." "What is this about?" Croft whispered to the Chief. "Be quiet and find out," the Chief advised. She raised her voice. "Ms. Tane, we're waiting." "Ah, yes," said the young woman. She pressed a button, and an image of a blue-green world appeared on the holoprojector. "You're all familiar with Grafton II. It's a planet notorious for its gunmen for hire. Until now Graftonites have operated individually for different employers, some working against our interests, some working for them, but most engaged in activities unrelated to our interests." "Until now," the Chief prompted. "Ah, yes." Another image appeared, this one a moving image showing Graftonites in battle. They moved this way and that, moving so incredibly quickly that their images blurred, only solidifying when they stopped to momentarily fire their weapons. "This is an image from Grafton IV, another planet in orbit around Grafton. The inhabitants from Grafton IV aren't members of the League, but rather are an independent entity, like Grafton II. Unfortunately, they don't have the speeded up reflexes of their neighbors on Grafton II," said Tane. "What we're seeing, gentlemen, is an attack on the Zytrilium depository on Grafton IV," said the Chief. "Groups of Graftonites are occasionally hired to stage armed raids," said one of the generals. "As long as it doesn't concern an Alliance world, why do we care?" "Because when the Graftonites took the Zytrilium, they didn't leave," said the Chief. "They stayed behind and took over Grafton IV. Next image, please!" she said, taking over the presentation. The image of a dark haired man appeared on the screen. "This is Mo Quandry, the leader of this new group of Graftonites," said the Chief. "As far as we can tell, he's the one who organized this invasion." There was a murmuring at her use of the word. "That, gentlemen, is the issue. If the Graftonites are getting organized, and have started to invade a neighboring planet, who is to say whose planet will be next? An Alliance planet, perhaps?" "The Graftonites are formidable fighters, but we outnumber them more than a thousand to one. They only have one planet with a population of what, 50 million?" said one of the Generals. "Eight million," said Tane. "Eight million! What is that against a population of hundreds of billions?" said the general. "And they have no space force to speak of," said an admiral. "How will they even get to the planet they're invading?" "According to our remote sensors, they used a civilian transport, escorted by fighters. No more than 300 Graftonites were involved in the invasion," said the Chief. "And Grafton IV, their target, has a population of 80 million." That was chilling. "You see, gentlemen, the story is not told in numbers," said the Chief. "Have we spoken with their government, sounded out their intentions?" said one of the civilians. "There is no government," said the Chief. The murmuring increased. "What do you mean?" said one of the civilians. "Every planet, even a small colony world, has to have a government. "There is no government," the Chief repeated. "Tane?" "There is no planetary government," said Tane. "You have to remember, these are fiercely individualistic people." "Impossible!" said one of the Admiral. "Who provides for planetary defense?" "The citizens do. Over 80% own their own spacefighter," said Tane. "Who provides for social welfare?" "The citizens provide for themselves," said Tane. "All essential services are privatized. It isn't cheap living on Grafton. That part's of the reason that it's underpopulated." "What about schools?" "Privatized." "What about the justice system, police?" "There is no justice system, or police, or laws," said Tane. "There is no crime, legally speaking." "But… what if one civilian gets robbed, or attacked…." "Then that citizen can use his gun and hunt down the attacker," said Tane. "That's the other reason that Grafton may be underpopulated. If you're not good with a gun you don't tend to last long there." "What about killers?" "If a particular killer incenses the locals with his choice of targets, locals can band together to hunt him down," said Tane. "There is a limited form of local government. Water, sewage, and roads are provided by limited local authorities, the equivalent of county governments here. They function by assessing a property tax, which is set on a sliding scale based on the owner's ability as a gunman." "Owner's ability as a gunman? What does that have to do with anything?" a civilian asked. "The county authority hires a gunman, the best it can find, but usually someone with average or slightly above average gunfighting skills. That person acts as the tax assessor, going around from home to home assessing a tax. Before the assessor sets the tax, he takes into account how formidable the owner of the home is. Because the owner can appeal the ruling by attempting to kill the assessor." "How barbaric!" said the civilian. "If the gunman knows he's a faster draw than the owner, he assesses a relatively high fee, figuring that the owner will find it more reasonable to pay than to go up against him. If the gunman thinks the owner is faster than him, then he assesses a relatively low amount, figuring that at such a low amount the owner won't think it worthwhile to kill someone he hasn't been paid to kill." There was a lot of murmuring now in the conference room. "So there's no central government at all?" said one of the generals? "Sometimes Graftonites get together to discuss issues. When they do they're called meetings. When a lot of Graftonites, say a 100 or more, get together, it's called a Grand Meeting," said Tane. "About a hundred years ago there was a movement to get a lot of Grand Meetings together to elect representatives to form a national government." "What happened?" "The delegates met, found, given their fiercely individualistic nature, that they could only agree on two things, and disbanded," said Tane. "The two things were a national motto, 'Live Free or Die', and a resolution never to have a national government again." The murmuring grew louder. The Chief raised her voice to cut over the side discussions. "We have embassies on Grafton, of course, to represent the interests of our people there, but very little information about what is currently happening." "What about our Agency operatives on Grafton?" said Croft. "What do they say?" The Chief pressed a button. An image of a man, lying on the ground with a burn in his forehead appeared. "The agency chief doesn't say much." The image expanded to show two other people in a similar state. "Neither do his deputies," said the Chief. "Our embassy staff is huddled in their offices, afraid to come out. Since they don't have a government, the Graftonites don't think much of diplomatic immunity, I'm afraid." "Where do we go from here?" asked the secretary, speaking for the first time. "We need more information about this Quandry and his intentions, and what the situation on the ground is," said the Chief. "That's why I'm going to send another agent in." "One agent? Will that be enough?" said a general. The Chief grinned broadly. "It is when you consider who I have in mind." Twenty minutes later Croft was seated in the Chief's office. He started in with his first question even before she took her seat. "Why do I always get the suicide missions?" said Croft. "You're one of the Eight," said the Chief. "You're one of our chief trouble shooters." "It's funny that I never hear about any of the other seven being sent on these one-way missions," said Croft. "Why don't you send a Graftonite?" "I would, if we had a Graftonite operative, but we don't," said the Chief. "Why don't we hire one? We've done it before." "Because I need feedback from one of our own, not a Graftonite operative," said the Chief. "We've been trying to hire a Graftonite to accompany you, but anti-League sentiment is on an upswing there, undoubtedly thanks to our friend Mo Quandry, and we'll be lucky if we do find someone by the time you land there." "Do you really expect me to outgun a Graftonite?" said Croft. "You'll have to rely on your cunning," said the Chief. "You'll be dressed as and will pass as a Graftonite when you're in public. When you meet with people in private you'll have a different cover, as a League diplomatic official." "I'm going to pose as a Graftonite? Who thought up that crazy idea?" said Croft. "I did, Mr. Croft," said the Chief coldly. "Mr. Croft, may I be frank?" "By all means." "I don't like you," said the Chief. "I don't like your frivolous, headstrong ways. I've read your lengthy service records; my predecessors found you irritating too. But you have an uncanny knack for survival, and that's something we need here. If it will help stroke your precious ego, we're sending you in because we think you have the best chance for survival." Croft paused. "Thank you for the ego stroke. But if you're going to send me there, I'm going to need some help." "Some help I will give," said the Chief. She changed the subject. "What did you think of Ms. Tane's presentation?" "It was good, what little you let her give," said Croft. "She's very knowledgeable about the Graftonites. One of our top analysts in the area," said the Chief. "Are you suggesting I take a non-operative on a mission?" said Croft. "I'm going to have a hard time enough protecting myself, I can't babysit-" "I'm not suggesting anything," said the Chief. "I am ordering you to take Ms. Tane. Your service record indicates a tendency to disregard cultural norms and fail to appreciate local culture-" "We're not talking about a touristy visit here-" "Silence!" the Chief thundered. "You will take Ms. Tane and that is the end of it. I need to find out what the Graftons are up to and she will provide invaluable assistance. Now, is there anything else?" Croft opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Yes. A gamma operative." "Denied. Gamma operatives-" "-are limited in number and strictly intended for critical A-1 missions," said Croft. "I know, I've heard it all before. If the Graftonites are planning to invade other planets, I'd say that's priority A-1." The Chief paused for a moment, considering. Then she looked up at Croft, sighing. "Who do you want?" Croft also considered for a moment, then he said, "A telekinetic would be nice." "A telekinetic," said the Chief, punching some buttons on her keyboard. "You say it as if we had a whole warehouse of such operatives available." She pressed another button and the holoimage of two faces appeared in the air. "The Clapper, or the Bopper," Croft groaned. "Which will it be?" said the Chief. Croft considered, trying to decide which one was less brain damaged. Gamma operatives had special abilities, but almost all of them had "personality quirks", some more serious than others. The Clapper had a tendency to clap his hands continually, which was irritating, but not nearly as bad as what the Bopper did. "The Clapper," said Croft. "Very well," said the Chief. "There's a freighter leaving tomorrow. We've booked special passage for you." "Thanks," said Croft. He got up, and turned to go. "Croft?" "Yes?" "I want regular reports. I intend to run your mission myself. There are to be no headstrong actions without consulting me. Are we clear?" Croft sighed. "Are we clear?" "Yes, I will only take headstrong actions when you approve them," said Croft, feeling very much the child. The first thing that Croft did after leaving the Chief was to send a quick message using his wrist comm. Then he started deeper into the complex towards one of the most heavily guarded section of the base--the Gamma section. His ID was checked several times at several checkpoints of heavily armed guards, before he finally found himself in a large room filled with screaming, shrieking individuals. "No, no, it's my toy, mine, mine, mine!" "I must have 15 raisins with my dinner, not 14, not 16, but 15!" "Excuse me, has anyone seen my mind?" Croft tried to blot it out as he approached a trainer, asked a question. She pointed to a room down the hall. Croft had just reached the door when a flame spurted out of it, almost burning him. He jumped back, waiting for the flame to subside, before entering. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" said Croft, seeing a red haired woman as he entered. "You almost burned me!" "Told you (clap clap), told you (clap clap)," said a skinny man to one side of the room. "Sorry, I didn't see you," the woman grinned, a sheen of perspiration on her head as her hair color slowly turned blonde. "Red, you're going to hurt someone one of these days," said Croft. "I've already hurt people," said Red Sally. "One of the wrong people, I mean," said Croft. He turned to the Clapper. His real name was Robert Clerk, but to everyone here he was just the clapper. "I'm here on a mission." "Mission?" said the Clapper. His eyebrows perked up, and he looked excited, like a pet promised a walk outside. "We're going to Grafton," said Croft. "Have you heard of Grafton?" "Is it pretty?" said the Clapper. "Very pretty," Croft assured him, automatically falling back into liespeak. Actually, though, Grafton II was mostly untamed forest woodlands and mountains. It really was pretty. But that wasn't foremost on his mind right now. He was successfully escorting the Clapper to the door when Red Sally said, "Take me with you!" "Not possible, Red," said Croft. "Why not?" "This is going to be a dangerous mission-" "Dangerous?" said the Clapper. Oh oh, wrong thing to say. "Dangerous for you," Croft corrected. "We're going to a planet of people who like to pick fights. With your temper-" "Who says I have a temper!" said Red Sally. Steam started to rise from her hair, which started to turn faintly red again. The room grew warm. "Sally, you're not going to get your way," said Croft. "And if you create a tantrum and start a fire again, I'll have you put in the ice room." "Oh…." The heat started to dissipate. She took a few steps forward. "Take me with you. Please!" "No," said Croft. "Stay!" Sally stopped. "Good girl!" said Croft, in a rich voice. "We'll send you a postcard." He turned to the Clapper. "Let's go." As they left the facility Croft inured himself to the screams and yells. But one voice in a forest of conversation caught his ear. "Never grateful, never grateful, no…. do not try the first hamburger, not the first one, Croft!" But when Croft turned to find the person who spoke, he was gone. Two hours later, after dropping off the Clapper and running some other errands, Croft made his way to the roof, on the 192nd floor. It was only there that one could appreciate the Majesty of August, the capitol of the Alliance, one great city of skyscrapers spread out over most of a continent. Here, near the planetary capital Sarney Sarittenden, the bulk and height of the buildings were especially intense. The sun beat down at him and the wind whipped at his body as he walked on the crunchy green turf. A man in a chef's hat stood cooking on the far side of the roof, on an old fashioned grill. Croft slowly walked towards him. "Really, Levi, I don't know what you see in all this," said Croft. "I like outdoors," said the man. His name was Levi Esherkol, and he was one of the most brilliant scientists working for the Agency. But he also liked to cook. Levi pressed down on the meat, and the dripping juices raised a fire which surrounded the burgers. "Ready, I think." "Levi, I don't have time for this." "Always time for quality food," said the cook. He handed Croft the hamburger. The smell was delicious. Croft's first instinct was to bite into it, but then, remembering something he had heard, lifted the bun and looked at the burger. "Levi!" "What?" Croft showed him the burger. There was a bug mashed on top of it. "How that get there?" said Levi. "Sorry." He took it away and gave Croft another. After careful inspection, Croft bit into it. It was really good. "Eh? Eh?" said Levi, watching his expression. "Use specially flavored hickory chips. You like?" "Um," said Croft, chewing a bit and then swallowing. "I like, I like. But Levi, about the problem I commed you about-" Levi looked down at Croft's boots. "I look in service, file, your boot size 10.1, correct?" Croft nodded. Levi reached behind the grill and handed Croft a pair of black boots that looked identical to the one that Croft was wearing. Levi looked pleased with himself. "I even got color right!" "Yes, Levi, but I already have boots, and how is this going to protect me >from Graftonite gunmen?" said Croft. "I was expecting some sort of portable forcefield-" "Don't have portable forcefield, certainly not on short notice," said Levi. "What do you have?" "Look in boot," said Levi. Croft raised the right boot and looked inside, but only saw darkness. "No, left boot!" Croft did the same with the left boot, but only saw the same thing. "No, not look!" said Levi. "Feel!" Croft started to put his hand in, but Levi grabbed his arm. "Gently!" said Levi. Croft, nodding, cautiously put his hand in. He felt an unfamiliar lumpiness on the roof of the interior of the boot. "The padded area?" Levi nodded. "Gas injector. Step on foot with other foot, and injector will send compressed gas injection through skin." "What kind of injection?" "Accelerant. Experimental," said Levi. "May accelerate bodily functions fast enough to compete with Graftonites." "May?" "Experimental," said Levi. "Works on chimps for short periods." "Chimps," said Croft. "Will this make me faster than the Graftonites?" "Not sure," said Levi. "Depends on your bodily chemistry, and formula." "Maybe I'd better ask a chimp," said Croft. "One more thing. Watch out for side effects." "What side effects?" Croft asked. "Dizziness. Maybe some nausea," said Levi. "Not likely life threatening. Only lost one chimp." "Only one?" said Croft. "Not directly related to serum," said Levi. "Chimp fell off roof. Wrong to test it up here, but was nice sunny day." "Oh," said Croft. "It still sounds dangerous. Isn't there anything else-" "Best can do on short notice," said Levi. "Do you have few weeks?" "No." "Then all I can give." "Well, that's all I can ask for, I guess," said Croft. "I'm bringing the Clapper, maybe that will help even the odds." Levi gave a short laugh, which wasn't encouraging. Croft turned to go. "Croft?" "Yes?" "Looking for new meat recipes, Graftons famous for. If time, can you-" "You bet, Levi," said Croft. "Priority one." Actually, Graftonites were famous for their meat recipes. That was one of the many things that Croft learned on the trip to Grafton II. Sylvia Tane was a veritable fountain of information, telling him much more than he wanted to know about Grafton. Croft had actually been to Grafton before, but he had to admit that Sylvia knew a lot. "Did you know that over 90% of the population are dedicated carnitarians?" said Tane. "No," said Croft. The Clapper sat quietly, watching the conversation. He generally only clapped when he was nervous, or bored. "They refuse to eat fruits or vegetables," said Tane. "Fascinating," said Croft. "Is there anything in your database that tells us how to win a gunfight against them?" "Gunfight? You're not planning to challenge any Graftonite, are you?" "No," said Croft. "I was thinking of the other way around." "It is not uncommon for Graftonites to challenge others to gunfights, but only if they feel insulted, or if they don't get what they want," said Tane. "My advice is not to insult any of them and to give them whatever they want." "I wonder if any of our late operatives insulted the Graftonites," said Croft. "I did notice from the holoimages that all of them had their blasters out," said Tane. "If someone challenges you, simply refuse to fight." "Haven't you ever heard of Graftonite killers? They'll kill me whether I defend myself or not," said Croft. "Well, certainly, there are some of those in Grafton society. But there is also a strong cultural belief in the fair fight." "The fair fight?" "Yes," said Tane. "That all gunfights should be one on one. That a Graftonite shouldn't be attacked by surprise, or sniped at long distance." "A code of conduct for a planet of killers," said Croft dryly. "Don't dismiss it so casually, Mr. Croft," said Tane. "I've read of instances of Graftonites who disregarded the rules who were hunted down and killed by their neighbors. Some of them take these things very seriously." "What about the Graftonites who hire themselves out as killers?" "Yes, they generally do," said Tane. "But their victims are almost always non-Graftonites, so it doesn't really matter if they have an opportunity to defend themselves or not. But as long as no one has been hired to kill you, you should be all right. After all, you're a sheep." "What?" said Croft. "That's what Graftonites have started calling non-Graftonites. Sheep. It's meant as a visual metaphor for the weak, those unable to defend themselves. It's meant disparagingly, but actually may help us," said Tane. "How?" "Well, sheep are looked down upon, but they're also pitied. If someone simply killed a sheep without cause, his neighbors would look negatively on that," said Tane. "Uh huh," said Croft, aware that despite what Tane said, any Grafton could kill them for any reason he wished. Then another thought struck him. "But we're not posing as off-worlders, as least not in public. We're supposed to be posing as Graftonites." "Well, that was the Chief's idea. I can't be responsible for that," said Tane. The Clapper clapped twice. It was going to be some trip. Chapter 2 Basking in the Hospitality of the Silencer Croft drew his blaster lightning quick, appraising his opponent in the mirror who drew just as fast as he did. Studying his stance for a moment, he holstered his blaster and drew it again. "You won't need to do that," said Tane. "We're going to pass for Graftonites. Nobody's going to challenge us." Croft gave a short laugh. "Graftonites are always challenging each other." "They only challenge people they think are weak, like off-worlders," said Tane. "They don't challenge each other unless it's over something really important. Since we will be posing as native Graftonites, we shouldn't have any trouble." Croft drew his blaster again. This time, he thought he was slightly faster. Good. He turned away from the mirror and set his blaster to the test setting. Tensing again, he drew his blaster and fired immediately, hitting a crate some twenty feet away. Not bad, but not good; he had been aiming for the crate above the one he had actually hit. "No matter how much you practice, you'll never be as fast as the natives," said Tane. Croft hadn't told her about the accelerant that Levi had given him. It was still experimental, Levi had said. Only to be used as a last resort. Croft wasn't enthusiastic about injecting a barely tested drug into his system, but if he were faced with a Graftonite killer, he would have no choice. "A more productive use of the time would be spent reviewing the data on Grafton," said Tane. "We will be landing on Regular in just a few hours." "Regular?" Croft said idly, continuing to practice quickdrawing, firing, and reholstering his weapon. "Their capital, and, it appears, their only city," said Tane. "If you can call a locale of only 120,000 people a city." "Only 120,000 people?" said Croft. "What about the other almost eight million Graftonites?" "They're all spread out, all over the countryside," said Tane. "You see, it's things like this you should be learning, and not playing with your weapon. I can help." "You want to help?" said Croft. "If I can," said Tane. "Can you move right over there?" Croft asked, indicating the crates he had been targeting. "I need to practice on a human shape." When the freighter touched down, Tane said, "I hope you spent at least some time figuring out a course of action. The Chief's initial orders are to find out more about this Quandry and what his intentions are, but we have been some latitude in how we approach this. I suggest we begin by reviewing the local media database-" "Fine, you do that," said Croft. "But I didn't come all the way here to review their local media database." "Then what do you plan?" "First we pick up our contact," said Croft. After substantial effort Column had ultimately succeeded in hiring a local Graftonite to accompany them for a premium. Given the anti off-worlder sentiment, it was lucky they had found anyone at all. His name was Tallas Carper, and that was all Croft knew about him. "And then?" "We'll drop by a friend's place," said Croft. "May I remind you that we're here on official business," said Tane. "I think you just did," said Croft. Croft and Tane stepped out onto the tarmac at the Regular Spaceport. Although it was the largest spaceport on the planet, it didn't have connecting tubes to the arrival terminal as most spaceports did. Most of the traffic that came through Regular was cargo freight; if Graftons needed to travel off-planet, they used their own fighters or small transports. A mile away, Croft appeared in the crosshairs of a sniper scope. "I have him," said the slightly accented voice. "They did send Croft, as we predicted. Shall I kill him?" the sniper asked. "Fool!" said his superior, a woman with light brown straight hair whose eyes flashed as she grabbed the sniper rifle away from him. The sniper and the other members of the observation team looked up at her with surprise. "Don't you think it would be the tiniest bit suspicious to kill Croft in so public a place?" said the woman. "Yes Major, but-" "And don't you think that at this range a kill would be far from certain? You might only wound him, and put him on alert." "Yes Major, but-" "And wouldn't it be wiser to first find out what he's doing here, and what his mission is, before liquidating him?" "Yes Major," said the sniper. "But you are only observing our mission and so I thought-" "What you most obviously did not do was think," said Major Nancy Kalikov of the Slurian Special Tasks Bureau (STB). "Follow him, learn what he's doing and what he knows. Once we find out what he's up, to, then you may kill him." They entered the arriving building. To Croft's surprise, there was no customs inspection. Tane had told him that their luggage wouldn't be inspected, but he hadn't believed it. "Customs inspections only occur when there are rules about what may come in or out of the planet," said Tane. "There are no such rules. Nor is this even a public spaceport." But there was one line they had to stand on before they left the building. When they got to the head of the line, a bored looking Graftonite said, "200 credits." "200 credits? For what?" said Croft. The Graftonite looked at him oddly. "Import tax." "But how can there be an import tax if there's no government?" Croft asked, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be playing the part of a native Graftonite and if he were a native he would know about such things. The Graftonite, who, like all Graftonites was armed, sighed. "This spaceport is a private facility. Nothing here runs for free. " "But 200 credits, simply for the ability to walk out of here?" "If you're poor, don't come to Grafton," said the Graftonite. His hand casually went down to the area around his holstered weapon. "Are you saying that you're challenging the entry fee?" The Clapper's eyes grew round. "No," said Croft quickly, paying for him and Tane and the Clapper. "Thank you," said the Graftonite coldly. As they stepped out of the terminal Croft found himself blinking in the bright morning sunlight. Everyone around them was wearing blue denim pants and jackets, almost as if it were a national uniform. Of course, given the ruggedly individualistic nature of the Graftonites, there could never be any such thing as a national uniform. Croft, Tane, and the Clapper were clad in blue denim too, all part of the Chief's plan to have them pass for Graftonites. "Where's our contact?" said Croft, looking around. There were a few Graftonites standing around outside the terminal, but none made eye contact with them. Croft keyed up a picture of Tallas Carper on his personal data unit, then looked around. He didn't see anyone who looked like this Carper in the area. "I told him when we were arriving," said Tane. "Did you also tell him to meet us here?" said Croft. "I think so," said Tane. After a pause, as she tried to reconcile her memory with what she wanted to believe, she said "I presumed that was self-evident." The Clapper clapped twice. Croft sighed and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal his personal comm unit, while simultaneously pulling up the comm code for Tallas Carper. In seconds he was speaking to their contact. "My name is Clifford Croft," said Croft. "That's nice," said the stone cold voice on the other end. "We're here, at the spaceport in Regular," Croft said. "Good to know," said Carper. "Why aren't you here?" Croft asked. "I haven't received the first installment of my payment," said the even voice. "Our arrangement was to pay you on a weekly basis, at the end of the week," said Tane, speaking into Croft's comm. "I'm altering our arrangement," said Carper. "I want to be paid a week in advance, effective immediately." Croft put his hand over the comm unit. "Are you sure you couldn't find anyone else?" Tane shook her head. "No one wants to work for off-worlders right now." Croft took his hand off the comm unit. "Just a moment." He took another device out of his pocket with a small keyboard, and started typing away. Then, a minute later, he returned to the wrist comm. "Done." "Just a moment," said the voice. Then, "Confirmed. What are your instructions?" "How long would it take you to get to the Regular spaceport?" "About four hours." Croft sighed. "Forget it. Just meet us at the following address," he said, providing him with a specific location. After signing off, he glared at Tane. "What?" said Tane. "We'd better go rent a groundcar," said Croft. The groundcar, like everything else on Grafton, was expensive. When Croft tried to negotiate the price, the owner said, "Perhaps you'd prefer going to my competition." "Where is your competition?" "I have none," said the proprietor. "Only off-worlders need to rent groundcars, and we don't get many of those." "But 500 credits a day is outrageous," said Croft. "If you're poor, don't come to Grafton." Croft sighed, paying. It wasn't his money, after all, but he disliked being gouged under any circumstances. Plus, he was sure that the Chief would micromanage his expense reports. They drove for several hours in silence, only occasionally punctuated by brief outbursts of clapping. "Does he always do that?" Tane said irritably after one outburst. "Yes. I've even seen him do it in his sleep," said Croft. He stopped at a crossroads to study the onboard map (which had cost 20 credits extra per day). Then he turned off the paved road onto a dirt road. They had a bumpy ride for the next hour. "Roads are one of the few services handled by the local governments," said Tane. "Obviously they haven't quite finished the job," said Croft, as the groundcar skimmed over a bump. "Their financial resources are quite limited, as I mentioned earlier," said Tane. "As I told you, their only source of revenue is a real estate tax on homes with-" "Inferior gunmen, I know," said Croft. After another hour they arrived at turn off the road which had a big sign that simply read, "Keep out. Intruders will be executed." "I think we're here," said Croft, carefully checking the map again. "Your friend lives here?" said Tane. "Friend is a strong word," said Croft. "I'm not sure Graftonites have friends. Call him an acquaintance." He drove the groundcar past the sign. A moment later they came upon an enormous ranch house surrounded by evergreen trees. Rows of colorful flowers were planted in front and exotic butterflies hopped from one petal to another. A Graftonite stood on the porch. Croft, Tane, and the Clapper got out of the groundcar. Instantly the Graftonite's blaster was in his hand, though Croft hadn't seen him draw it. "I guess you can't read," he said simply. "Wait!" said Croft, raising his hands in the universal surrender gesture. "I'm here to see the Silencer. I'm his friend." The man gave a hoarse laugh. "What's so funny?" Croft asked. "The Silencer hasn't got any off-worlder friends, sheep." "He does have one, and his name is Clifford Croft," said Croft. "If you kill me without asking the Silencer first, he'll be very angry with you." The man considered for a few seconds, and there was no telling what might have happened next if another voice hadn't interrupted. "Ted! Put that gun down," said a woman who had stepped out of the front door onto the porch. They turned to see a woman with brown wavey hair wearing the traditional blue denim jeans but also a brown leather vest, the first non-blue color they had seen anybody wearing since they had arrived. She wore two pearl handled pistols, one holstered on each thigh. The Graftonite immediately lowered his gun. "These sheep say they know the Silencer." "That one at least does," said the woman. "And it's not polite to call our guests sheep, at least to their face." She turned to Croft. "Clifford, what a surprise! What brings you here?" Croft turned to face the Silencer's wife, Annie Oakley. It was not the name she had been born with, of course, but as the winner of the Gold in the Galaxy Trick Shooting competition five times running she was entitled to be called whatever she wanted. "Hi, Annie. I'm here to see the Silencer. I need his help," said Croft. "John's a bit busy right now getting ready for a mission," said Oakley. "But I'm sure he can spare a few minutes for you. Follow me." They followed her into the spacious house through a maze of rooms. They arrived at a room filled with equipment and provisions where a tall, thin man with dark hair was filling up a rudsack. "John, I have some unexpected guests to see you." "Tell them I'm not here." Croft cleared his throat. "It's a bit too late for that." The Silencer allowed surprise to show on his face, but only for a moment. "Croft. What are you doing here?" he said, as he continued to pack. "I need your help," said Croft. "Sorry, I'm off on a mission," said the Silencer. He looked over a weapons rack, picked out two blasters, and weighed one in each hand, as if deciding which one to bring. Frowning, he made a decision, putting both in the rudsack. "This is important," said Croft. "So is my mission," said the Silencer. "What is it?" said Croft. "Bounty hunt," said the Silencer. "I'm talking about preventing a war." "I'm talking about collecting a big fee." "I see," said Croft. "John, I'm here to talk with you about Mo Quandry-" "He's no concern to me," said the Silencer. "He will be if he plunges Grafton into war against the League." The Silencer closed the rudsack, lifted it up, and turned to Croft. "As long as he stays off my property, doesn't try to take a cut of my bounty, and keeps away from my lovely wife, I really don't care." He walked past Croft to Annie, gave her a perfunctory kiss. "Bye killer," he said to her. "I'll see you in two weeks, maybe ten days if things go even easier than I expect." "I'll see you, John," Oakley said, watching him go. She seemed spellbound for a moment, but when the Silencer left the room she quickly snapped back to the present. "I'm sorry John was in such a rush, Clifford. Would you like a drink before you go?" They sat out on the porch drinking Vorsk, a coarse local liquor that burned Croft's throat after the first sip. "You're here about Mo, I heard," said Annie. "It's no surprise, really." "What's it all about, Annie?" said Croft. "He's been stirring people up, saying we aren't getting true value for our labor," said Annie. "He says that we're the best fighters in the galaxy, which is true, of course. But the controversial part he's talking about is upping our compensation rate." "How, by unionizing?" Annie laughed. "We already have the bounty hunter's guild. No, Quandry is saying we should simply go out there and take what we want." "Like he did on Grafton IV," said Croft. "Only he didn't simply rob the planet, he actually occupied it." "Yes, that was unusual," said Annie. "His people have effectively taken over. They collect the taxes, tariffs, and fees, and are getting quite wealthy, I'm told." "How many people does he have there?" Annie shrugged. "50, maybe 100." "He controls an entire planet with only 100 people?" "I suppose," said Annie. "You look surprised." "Well, you people are fearsome warriors, but can 100 of you really stand up against a 100,000 man army? Or a blockbuster bomb?" Annie laughed again. "You think in such conventional terms, Clifford. Yes, if you lined up 100 of us against 100,000 of you, we'd only manage to kill a few thousand of you before we were taken down. However, that's not the kind of war that Quandry waged." "What kind of war did he wage?" Croft asked. "You'll have to ask him," said Annie. "I wasn't there." "You seem remarkably unconcerned," said Croft. "Don't you care if Quandry drags Grafton into a wider war?" "I'm not involved," said Annie. "In fact, 99% of Graftonites aren't involved." "What?" said Croft. "Oh, he has his supporters, and a lot of sympathizers, maybe, though since they don't take many polls here, his level of support is hard to tell," said Annie. "But if you're asking how many blasters he has behind him for action, well, it can't be more than a few hundred, maybe a thousand or two." "So you think we're blowing this out of proportion," said Croft. "Not at all," said Annie. "He's gaining strength all the time; even I can see it. And a few thousand Graftonites can conquer a lot of planets." Croft still couldn't understand how a handful of Graftonites, however skilled they might be, could take over an entire planet. It was a matter that merited further investigation. "But things didn't really start going crazy until Rel Caldwalader was killed," said Annie. "Cad--who?" said Croft. "A bounty hunter," said Annie. "Was gunned down a few weeks ago." "I would think that can happen in your line of work, even to a Graftonite," said Croft. "Yes, but it's seldom done by one's own employer," said Annie. "Rel did the mission, but when he went to collect his bounty, his employer tried to cheat him, only paying half. When Rel refused to accept it, he was gunned down." "Ouch," said Croft. "But I find it hard to believe that a typical Graftonite could simply be gunned down." "Anyone can, if you have the element of surprise, and five people jump out of an alley with guns blazing," said Annie. "That was the other galling thing about it. It wasn't a fair one on one fight. It was a surprise hit, and five on one at that. That really rankled people almost as much as the hit itself." "What do you mean?" "On Grafton when someone calls out someone else, it's almost always one-on-one," said Annie. "It's considered sportsmanlike. The combination of Rel's employer first trying to cheat him and then kill him in such an unsporting way enraged people here. They kept broadcasting holos of the hit over and over on the local networks. It was only after a few weeks of that that Quandry riled up enough supporters to invade Grafton IV." "There was a holo of the event?" said Croft. "Yes, I think it was recorded by a security holovid," said Annie. "I'm surprised you don't know all this already, this is all public knowledge; don't you have any operatives on Grafton?" Croft, remembering the images of the dead operatives, said, "We have some, ah, holes in our surveillance network." Annie was about to reply but suddenly frowned as a groundcar pulled up in front of the ranch. Her hand instinctively snaked down to one of her pearl handled pistols. She wasn't expecting guests. She was silent, watching, as a man in blue denim with his right arm in a sling stepped out of the car. Seeing Annie, he nodded respectfully, keeping his good arm well away from his holstered weapon. The newcomer turned to Croft. "You Croft?" he asked gruffly. Croft nodded. "You must be Tallas Carper." The man nodded. "What happened to your arm?" Croft asked. "I scratched it," said Carper, suddenly giving Croft an unexpectedly hateful glare. "Well, our ride is here," said Croft. "Thanks for the drink, and the information, Annie." "You barely touched your drink," said Annie wryly. "Feel free to give John another try when he gets back." "I may do that," said Croft. As she entered the house Croft turned to face his team. "So now that we're all together, what do we do?" Tane asked. "I think the most obvious thing to do is to pay Mr. Quandry a visit," said Croft. "I don't think he likes off-worlders," said Tane. "That may not be very safe for us." "Then it's a good thing that the Chief has cleverly had us disguise ourselves as Graftonites." Carper snorted. The Clapper clapped. "What's with him?" Carper asked. "He has enthusiasm," says Croft. "Shall we go?" Chapter 3 The Face of the Enemy They tapped into one of the local online information networks (for a fee, of course--nothing was free on Grafton II), and quickly discovered that Quandry was holding a Great Meeting on a ranch in the middle of the continent the following day. It was too far to go by groundcar, so they had to rent passage on a private transport. With a maximum of prodding, Carper located a transport they could rent. Croft steeled himself for the outrageous price they had to pay and simply billed it, but he knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do to the Chief afterwards. During the trip out Croft tried to size Carper up. He studiously avoided eye contact with all of them, and defied all of Tane's attempt to start a conversation with him. "So, what do you normally do for a living?" said Tane. Carper glared at her. She timidly stared back. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to look away, he said, "I answer stupid questions." "I'm just trying to be friendly," said Tane. "Be anything you like," said Carper. "Does your injury hurt you?" said Tane. Carper turned to face her. "What are you implying, sheep?" he said his voice cold. His good hand strayed close to his holster. Tane started to tremble. "I… I…" "Are you saying I'm weak?" "No, most certainly not!" said Tane. Carper relaxed his good arm, and some of the tension seemed to evaporate. "Are we paying extra for attitude?" Croft asked. Carper glared at him. "The only reason I'm asking is, because if we are, I'm happy to say we're getting our money's worth," said Croft. It was a very long and quiet trip in the transport after that. When they touched down in a small, private clearing, they rented a groundcar. They drove to an estate of a wealthy rancher who was permitting Quandry to use his estate for the Grand Meeting. "As it is a Grand Meeting, there could be anywhere from 100 to 500 people here," said Tane, as they entered a small stadium on the grounds. The bleachers filled up rapidly. They looked for seats. "Watch it, sheep," said a Graftonite, pushing past Croft. Croft checked his anger. He saw some seats and went for them, but by the time he got there another Graftonite walked right in front of him and sat down. "Going somewhere, sheep?" They eventually found seating on the upper edges of the bleachers. As they sat down a pair of Graftonites sitting in front of them turned around and looked distastefully at them. "I didn't know they allowed your kind here, sheep." Croft turned to Tane and muttered, "This disguise is working really, really well." Just how were the Graftonites able to determine that they were off-worlders just by looking at them? Croft resolved to find out. He tapped the man in front of him on the shoulder. That was a mistake. The man whipped around, his blaster pointed at Croft. No one spoke for a moment. The man waited for Croft to draw. Croft slowly raised his hands and gave a watery smile. "You got a death wish, sheep?" said the Graftonite. "I just want to know what makes you think we're off-worlders," said Croft. The man snorted, shook his head, and turned around to face forward. Croft looked at his companions; Tane looked frightened out of her wits; the Clapper looked idiotically content; and Carper looked like he wished he were somewhere, anywhere else. In a few minutes the bleachers were filled. Croft took a quick count of the audience; there were well over 1000 people there. Maybe Annie had underestimated Quandry's appeal. A tall, dark haired man with a scar running down the side of his face stepped out into the arena, flanked by several guards. He had a blaster on one hip and a foil strapped on the other. His image was amplified on holograms above and around the arena. Croft recognized him immediately. It was none other than Mo Quandry. He stood there for a moment, boldly basking in the attention of the crowd. Immediately, there were wild cheers from the audience. The cheering went on for several moments, until Quandry gestured with his hands for it to subside. Reluctantly, the audience went silent. "Thank you, my friends," said Quandry. "As many of you know, I'm a man of action, not words, so let us get down to business. You have all seen this." The large floating holograms suddenly showed a grainy side street. A Graftonite could be seen standing there, in the middle of the conversation. "You can't be serious," said the Graftonite. "I delivered on my end of the contract. Now you pay up." "I'm afraid I can only afford to pay half," said the man the Graftonite was speaking to. While the Graftonite's features could clearly be seen, the other man was largely off camera--only his hands and body could be seen. "That's not acceptable," said the Graftonite. "I was afraid you might say that," said the man. Suddenly, the image they were watching panned wide to show the image of blasters poking out of several surrounding buildings. They discharged almost simultaneously, even as the Graftonite was drawing his weapon. The Graftonite fell to the ground, his eyes open, as blood dripped from his body. Dark boots walked by his face. "If I had known Graftonites worked so cheaply, I would have hired more of you," the figure chuckled. There were screams and roars in the arena as the image faded. It took Quandry several minutes to quiet them down far enough so that he could be heard over the amplification system. "You see!" he yelled. "They didn't even give him a chance! That's the way the sheep fight!" He was greeted by more yelling and jeers. "But now see how we fight!" A new holographic image appeared, that of Graftonites running and Shooting in a different setting. Dimly, Croft guessed that these must be scenes of the invasion of Grafton IV. The Graftonites there didn't have the accelerated reflexes of their cousins on Grafton II. But they did have a substantial standing army. How did these Graftonites conquer it so easily? The answer wasn't forthcoming from the holo that was being showed. Graftonites jumped and shot rapidly, moving almost took quick for the holo to record. But what they were shooting at and what the overall tactical position was couldn't be determined. The images were also obviously put together from small clips, making it difficult to clearly see what was going on. But the clips showed their purpose. "See what happens when we unite, when we take the fight to the sheep!" said Quandry. There was a thunderous applause. "There will be no more jobs for piddling fees, no more exploitation of our labor!" There was more applause. The Clapper, unable to restrain himself, started joining in. "We took Grafton IV like it was an apple waiting to be plucked!" said Quandry. The crowd roared again. "But never let it be said that we do not seek peace," said Quandry. The crowd was silent, expectant. "I propose a new… paradigm for dealing with other planets." There was widespread laughter at Quandry's use of the word paradigm. "Since we are stronger, more equipped, and yes, superior, in every way, to other planets, each inhabited planet should pay us a… fee, a fee for protection," said Quandry. The crowd roared with approval, clapping wildly. So did the Clapper. "If a planet peacefully pays its assessed fee every year, we too will leave them in peace," said Quandry. "But if they do not, they will feel our wrath!" The crowd roared. In a room deep inside the stadium, a group of Graftonites looked at the monitors. "Where?" said one of the Graftonites, the one in charge. His name was Janson Rocco, and he was Mo Quandry's chief of staff. "I had it a moment ago," said one of the Graftonite security men, panning the image across the stadium bleachers. Suddenly, he saw what he was looking for, and stopped the panning. "There!" The image showed Croft, Tane, and the Clapper, sitting around other Graftonites. To an uneducated eye, the image didn't look odd, especially when everyone was clapping. But it was when everyone stopped clapping that the oddness became apparent--the Clapper didn't stop clapping. "Sheep, sir," the security man reported. Rocco snapped his fingers. "I want them removed." "Alive?" The security man inquired. "At least one of them, yes, for questioning," said Rocco. "Do you care which one?" said the security man. "Not really," said Rocco, turning away. Two men suddenly materialized on either side of Croft and his team. "You will come with us." The other Graftonites in the audience, who were still listening to Quandry, turned to give Croft a withering stare. "Did we sit in reserved seats?" said Croft, giving a little smile. "I'm not going to ask again, sheep," said the Graftonite coldly. Croft looked over at Carper, who was carefully looking away. Perhaps their bodyguard, with only one good arm, didn't feel fast enough to take on two of his countrymen. All right, they would play along. Nodding, Croft got up. Tane, the Clapper, and Carper followed. They were led to a small room without windows where a serious looking Graftonite awaited them. They weren't disarmed, but two Graftonites stood guard behind them. "Who are you?" said the Graftonite bluntly. "My, ah, name is Clifford Toft," said Croft. "I'm from Regular." "The truth, sheep," said the Graftonite in bored tones. "All right," said Croft, giving Tane a I-told-you-so look. "My name really is Clifford Toft. I'm leading a special diplomatic envoy from the League." "You've got some nerve showing up here. What are you doing here?" "Assessing the situation," said Croft. He was abruptly aware that if the man behind the desk didn't like his answers, he wouldn't leave the room alive. "Assessing…" said the man, as if he were thinking, weighing options, alternatives. Croft felt as if the decision came out the wrong way, he would be dead. The man turned back to Croft. "And what have you assessed so far?" "Um" said Croft, not sure how much to lie, "I was… impressed that Mo Quandry is looking for a peaceful solution." The man gave Croft a cynical stare. He considered for a moment longer. Then he nodded. "All right," he said. He snapped his fingers. His guards opened the door. "Is that 'all right, you can go?' or 'all right, shoot them'?" said Croft. "I think you'll find out when you get outside that door," said the Graftonite. "Now get out of here and hope we never meet again." Croft got up slowly. "How can I hope we never meet again if I don't know who I just met?" "The name is Janson Rocco. I'm Mr. Quandry's chief of staff," said Rocco. "Really? Could you arrange a meeting with Mr. Quandry?" said Croft. Rocco chuckled. "The only time you and Quandry will meet is if he shows up at your funeral. Now get out of here before I change my mind." Croft nodded, slowly leaving. But he noticed that Rocco gave Carper a disproving stare as they left. After they had left, one of the security men said, "What shall we do, boss? Shall we tell Mr. Quandry-" "You will tell Mr. Quandry nothing!" said Rocco. "I don't pay you to talk." "Yes sir." "I will talk to Mo. For now, simply follow them. There's something not quite right about that diplomatic envoy." "We'll never be in danger," said Croft, in a whiny voice, as he drove the groundcar off the grounds of the ranch. "We'll pass for Graftonites. No one will figure out who we are." Carper chuckled. Tane reddened. "It was the Chief's idea," she said. "And you assured me it would work," said Croft. "It almost got us killed." "I don't understand how they recognized us as being off-worlders," said Tane. "Well, maybe we should ask an on-worlder," said Croft. "How were we recognized?" There was silence in the groundcar. Croft carefully pulled over to the side of the road and turned to Carper. "I'm talking to you." Carper gave Croft a withering look. "It should be obvious, even to a sheep." Croft kept his anger in check. "You're an employee; answer the question, employee," he said, purposefully dragging out the last word. Carper's face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. He didn't speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was soft. "It should be obvious. It's everything. It's the moron with the idiotic expression on his face. It's you and the woman with your defeatist body language and feeble expressions."

Please use paragraphs in the next part as it makes it easier to read.

THIS IS PART 1
MORE OF THIS COOL STORY TO COME AND REMEMBER THIS IS BY Steven Gordon

They were the most fearsome soldiers in the galaxy. People trembled at their name. The Graftonites. It was a curious world, Grafton II, an uninhabited, lush planet. It was several years before the first settlers started to notice something different about themselves. Their reflexes started speeding up. They could move and dodge more quickly, and of course, shoot more quickly as well. At first, that skill was only used for hunting. But as time passed and their new found abilities matured, word spread about what the Graftonites were capable of doing. The galaxy had a need for men and women like these. Suddenly, the life of a hard working pioneer no longer had an allure, compared to the life of adventure and excitement that the galaxy had to offer. A hundred years later, the three most common professions on Grafton was pretty set for centuries to come. In order of popularity: Bounty hunter. Mercenary. Killer. Graftonites grew exceedingly wealthy, but they never forgot their roots, always returning to the place they called home. Graftonites were feared throughout the civilized galaxy for their exceedingly quick reflexes. A good Graftonite gunman could take on four or five other soldiers, outdraw them, and kill them all before any could fire a shot. As individuals they were only a threat to those they had been hired to capture, or kill. But their real threat came in organization. A single Graftonite could take on five, or seven, or maybe ten enemies. But an army of Graftonites would be almost unbeatable. The Graftonites, fiercely independent, had never organized. Not until Mo Quandry came along. He was a tall, dark haired man, with a single scar running down the side of his face and a certain hardness in his brown eyes, a hardness uncommon even for a Graftonite. "My friends," he said, standing before a Grand Gathering of assembled Graftonites. "Our time has come! No longer will we be content with pocket change, running the minor errands of the galaxy. Why settle for a handful of credits when it can all be ours!" The crowd roared. "Let us take from the sheep what is rightfully ours!" he yelled. "Together, we will rule the galaxy!" He raised his foil, the traditional weapon of the Graftonites, in to the air. "Victory!" "Victory!" the crowd shouted back. They shouted it over, again and again, and it was obvious to all that a new day had arrived on Grafton II. Chapter 1 Who are the Graftonites? "Why do I always get the jello?" Superspy Clifford Croft made a grimace as he raised the plastiform container off the cafeteria cart. He watched it jiggle suspiciously as he shook it. "What's the problem, Croft, you're holding up the line," grumbled another spy named Preston behind him. "This is my problem," said Croft, holding up the jello. "We save trillions of lives every day, and this is the best the Agency can do for us. Why can't we get more high quality desserts?" "You're one of the Eight, why don't you ask the Chief?" Preston asked. "Maybe I will," said Croft. Preston was teasing him, of course. They both knew that the Chief was new, and one didn't toy with a new Chief. Croft slammed the jello down. "I will," Croft repeated. "Because there's no way I'm going to eat this-" He was interrupted by the bleeping of his wrist comm. He pressed the button. "Croft here. I thought I told everyone not to disturb me during lunch." "Don't take that tone with me, Croft," came a only slightly familiar craggly voice over the line. It was the Chief. "I need you in conference room A-8, immediately." "Right Chief," said Croft. He moved to sever the connection, then paused. "May I bring my jello?" When Croft entered conference room A-8, he saw a number of operatives there, as well as some unfamiliar people. Some were senior ranking military officers, and others were obvious civilians. It was obviously an interagency meeting. Only the Chief gave him an acknowledging hostile glare. Mitty Benchly was new to the job, but she had already taken an instinctive dislike to Croft. She was a shrewd, elderly looking woman with the eyes of a hawk. "Mr. Croft," she said, giving him a warning glare. "I trust you know the Secretary," she said, indicating a dignified, middle aged man sitting in a fine, five piece suit, flanked by aides. "Well, I know of the secretary," said Croft. "We're not on a first name basis." He nodded to the Secretary, who actually deigned to make eye contact with him and nod slightly in return. Croft raised a plastiform cup. "Some jello, Mr. Secretary?" "Have a seat," said the Chief sharply. "Lights!" The lights dimmed. "This briefing will be led by one of our up and coming analysts, Sylvia Tane," said the Chief , indicating a young blonde woman. "You may begin, Ms. Tane." "What is this about?" Croft whispered to the Chief. "Be quiet and find out," the Chief advised. She raised her voice. "Ms. Tane, we're waiting." "Ah, yes," said the young woman. She pressed a button, and an image of a blue-green world appeared on the holoprojector. "You're all familiar with Grafton II. It's a planet notorious for its gunmen for hire. Until now Graftonites have operated individually for different employers, some working against our interests, some working for them, but most engaged in activities unrelated to our interests." "Until now," the Chief prompted. "Ah, yes." Another image appeared, this one a moving image showing Graftonites in battle. They moved this way and that, moving so incredibly quickly that their images blurred, only solidifying when they stopped to momentarily fire their weapons. "This is an image from Grafton IV, another planet in orbit around Grafton. The inhabitants from Grafton IV aren't members of the League, but rather are an independent entity, like Grafton II. Unfortunately, they don't have the speeded up reflexes of their neighbors on Grafton II," said Tane. "What we're seeing, gentlemen, is an attack on the Zytrilium depository on Grafton IV," said the Chief. "Groups of Graftonites are occasionally hired to stage armed raids," said one of the generals. "As long as it doesn't concern an Alliance world, why do we care?" "Because when the Graftonites took the Zytrilium, they didn't leave," said the Chief. "They stayed behind and took over Grafton IV. Next image, please!" she said, taking over the presentation. The image of a dark haired man appeared on the screen. "This is Mo Quandry, the leader of this new group of Graftonites," said the Chief. "As far as we can tell, he's the one who organized this invasion." There was a murmuring at her use of the word. "That, gentlemen, is the issue. If the Graftonites are getting organized, and have started to invade a neighboring planet, who is to say whose planet will be next? An Alliance planet, perhaps?" "The Graftonites are formidable fighters, but we outnumber them more than a thousand to one. They only have one planet with a population of what, 50 million?" said one of the Generals. "Eight million," said Tane. "Eight million! What is that against a population of hundreds of billions?" said the general. "And they have no space force to speak of," said an admiral. "How will they even get to the planet they're invading?" "According to our remote sensors, they used a civilian transport, escorted by fighters. No more than 300 Graftonites were involved in the invasion," said the Chief. "And Grafton IV, their target, has a population of 80 million." That was chilling. "You see, gentlemen, the story is not told in numbers," said the Chief. "Have we spoken with their government, sounded out their intentions?" said one of the civilians. "There is no government," said the Chief. The murmuring increased. "What do you mean?" said one of the civilians. "Every planet, even a small colony world, has to have a government. "There is no government," the Chief repeated. "Tane?" "There is no planetary government," said Tane. "You have to remember, these are fiercely individualistic people." "Impossible!" said one of the Admiral. "Who provides for planetary defense?" "The citizens do. Over 80% own their own spacefighter," said Tane. "Who provides for social welfare?" "The citizens provide for themselves," said Tane. "All essential services are privatized. It isn't cheap living on Grafton. That part's of the reason that it's underpopulated." "What about schools?" "Privatized." "What about the justice system, police?" "There is no justice system, or police, or laws," said Tane. "There is no crime, legally speaking." "But… what if one civilian gets robbed, or attacked…." "Then that citizen can use his gun and hunt down the attacker," said Tane. "That's the other reason that Grafton may be underpopulated. If you're not good with a gun you don't tend to last long there." "What about killers?" "If a particular killer incenses the locals with his choice of targets, locals can band together to hunt him down," said Tane. "There is a limited form of local government. Water, sewage, and roads are provided by limited local authorities, the equivalent of county governments here. They function by assessing a property tax, which is set on a sliding scale based on the owner's ability as a gunman." "Owner's ability as a gunman? What does that have to do with anything?" a civilian asked. "The county authority hires a gunman, the best it can find, but usually someone with average or slightly above average gunfighting skills. That person acts as the tax assessor, going around from home to home assessing a tax. Before the assessor sets the tax, he takes into account how formidable the owner of the home is. Because the owner can appeal the ruling by attempting to kill the assessor." "How barbaric!" said the civilian. "If the gunman knows he's a faster draw than the owner, he assesses a relatively high fee, figuring that the owner will find it more reasonable to pay than to go up against him. If the gunman thinks the owner is faster than him, then he assesses a relatively low amount, figuring that at such a low amount the owner won't think it worthwhile to kill someone he hasn't been paid to kill." There was a lot of murmuring now in the conference room. "So there's no central government at all?" said one of the generals? "Sometimes Graftonites get together to discuss issues. When they do they're called meetings. When a lot of Graftonites, say a 100 or more, get together, it's called a Grand Meeting," said Tane. "About a hundred years ago there was a movement to get a lot of Grand Meetings together to elect representatives to form a national government." "What happened?" "The delegates met, found, given their fiercely individualistic nature, that they could only agree on two things, and disbanded," said Tane. "The two things were a national motto, 'Live Free or Die', and a resolution never to have a national government again." The murmuring grew louder. The Chief raised her voice to cut over the side discussions. "We have embassies on Grafton, of course, to represent the interests of our people there, but very little information about what is currently happening." "What about our Agency operatives on Grafton?" said Croft. "What do they say?" The Chief pressed a button. An image of a man, lying on the ground with a burn in his forehead appeared. "The agency chief doesn't say much." The image expanded to show two other people in a similar state. "Neither do his deputies," said the Chief. "Our embassy staff is huddled in their offices, afraid to come out. Since they don't have a government, the Graftonites don't think much of diplomatic immunity, I'm afraid." "Where do we go from here?" asked the secretary, speaking for the first time. "We need more information about this Quandry and his intentions, and what the situation on the ground is," said the Chief. "That's why I'm going to send another agent in." "One agent? Will that be enough?" said a general. The Chief grinned broadly. "It is when you consider who I have in mind." Twenty minutes later Croft was seated in the Chief's office. He started in with his first question even before she took her seat. "Why do I always get the suicide missions?" said Croft. "You're one of the Eight," said the Chief. "You're one of our chief trouble shooters." "It's funny that I never hear about any of the other seven being sent on these one-way missions," said Croft. "Why don't you send a Graftonite?" "I would, if we had a Graftonite operative, but we don't," said the Chief. "Why don't we hire one? We've done it before." "Because I need feedback from one of our own, not a Graftonite operative," said the Chief. "We've been trying to hire a Graftonite to accompany you, but anti-League sentiment is on an upswing there, undoubtedly thanks to our friend Mo Quandry, and we'll be lucky if we do find someone by the time you land there." "Do you really expect me to outgun a Graftonite?" said Croft. "You'll have to rely on your cunning," said the Chief. "You'll be dressed as and will pass as a Graftonite when you're in public. When you meet with people in private you'll have a different cover, as a League diplomatic official." "I'm going to pose as a Graftonite? Who thought up that crazy idea?" said Croft. "I did, Mr. Croft," said the Chief coldly. "Mr. Croft, may I be frank?" "By all means." "I don't like you," said the Chief. "I don't like your frivolous, headstrong ways. I've read your lengthy service records; my predecessors found you irritating too. But you have an uncanny knack for survival, and that's something we need here. If it will help stroke your precious ego, we're sending you in because we think you have the best chance for survival." Croft paused. "Thank you for the ego stroke. But if you're going to send me there, I'm going to need some help." "Some help I will give," said the Chief. She changed the subject. "What did you think of Ms. Tane's presentation?" "It was good, what little you let her give," said Croft. "She's very knowledgeable about the Graftonites. One of our top analysts in the area," said the Chief. "Are you suggesting I take a non-operative on a mission?" said Croft. "I'm going to have a hard time enough protecting myself, I can't babysit-" "I'm not suggesting anything," said the Chief. "I am ordering you to take Ms. Tane. Your service record indicates a tendency to disregard cultural norms and fail to appreciate local culture-" "We're not talking about a touristy visit here-" "Silence!" the Chief thundered. "You will take Ms. Tane and that is the end of it. I need to find out what the Graftons are up to and she will provide invaluable assistance. Now, is there anything else?" Croft opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Yes. A gamma operative." "Denied. Gamma operatives-" "-are limited in number and strictly intended for critical A-1 missions," said Croft. "I know, I've heard it all before. If the Graftonites are planning to invade other planets, I'd say that's priority A-1." The Chief paused for a moment, considering. Then she looked up at Croft, sighing. "Who do you want?" Croft also considered for a moment, then he said, "A telekinetic would be nice." "A telekinetic," said the Chief, punching some buttons on her keyboard. "You say it as if we had a whole warehouse of such operatives available." She pressed another button and the holoimage of two faces appeared in the air. "The Clapper, or the Bopper," Croft groaned. "Which will it be?" said the Chief. Croft considered, trying to decide which one was less brain damaged. Gamma operatives had special abilities, but almost all of them had "personality quirks", some more serious than others. The Clapper had a tendency to clap his hands continually, which was irritating, but not nearly as bad as what the Bopper did. "The Clapper," said Croft. "Very well," said the Chief. "There's a freighter leaving tomorrow. We've booked special passage for you." "Thanks," said Croft. He got up, and turned to go. "Croft?" "Yes?" "I want regular reports. I intend to run your mission myself. There are to be no headstrong actions without consulting me. Are we clear?" Croft sighed. "Are we clear?" "Yes, I will only take headstrong actions when you approve them," said Croft, feeling very much the child. The first thing that Croft did after leaving the Chief was to send a quick message using his wrist comm. Then he started deeper into the complex towards one of the most heavily guarded section of the base--the Gamma section. His ID was checked several times at several checkpoints of heavily armed guards, before he finally found himself in a large room filled with screaming, shrieking individuals. "No, no, it's my toy, mine, mine, mine!" "I must have 15 raisins with my dinner, not 14, not 16, but 15!" "Excuse me, has anyone seen my mind?" Croft tried to blot it out as he approached a trainer, asked a question. She pointed to a room down the hall. Croft had just reached the door when a flame spurted out of it, almost burning him. He jumped back, waiting for the flame to subside, before entering. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" said Croft, seeing a red haired woman as he entered. "You almost burned me!" "Told you (clap clap), told you (clap clap)," said a skinny man to one side of the room. "Sorry, I didn't see you," the woman grinned, a sheen of perspiration on her head as her hair color slowly turned blonde. "Red, you're going to hurt someone one of these days," said Croft. "I've already hurt people," said Red Sally. "One of the wrong people, I mean," said Croft. He turned to the Clapper. His real name was Robert Clerk, but to everyone here he was just the clapper. "I'm here on a mission." "Mission?" said the Clapper. His eyebrows perked up, and he looked excited, like a pet promised a walk outside. "We're going to Grafton," said Croft. "Have you heard of Grafton?" "Is it pretty?" said the Clapper. "Very pretty," Croft assured him, automatically falling back into liespeak. Actually, though, Grafton II was mostly untamed forest woodlands and mountains. It really was pretty. But that wasn't foremost on his mind right now. He was successfully escorting the Clapper to the door when Red Sally said, "Take me with you!" "Not possible, Red," said Croft. "Why not?" "This is going to be a dangerous mission-" "Dangerous?" said the Clapper. Oh oh, wrong thing to say. "Dangerous for you," Croft corrected. "We're going to a planet of people who like to pick fights. With your temper-" "Who says I have a temper!" said Red Sally. Steam started to rise from her hair, which started to turn faintly red again. The room grew warm. "Sally, you're not going to get your way," said Croft. "And if you create a tantrum and start a fire again, I'll have you put in the ice room." "Oh…." The heat started to dissipate. She took a few steps forward. "Take me with you. Please!" "No," said Croft. "Stay!" Sally stopped. "Good girl!" said Croft, in a rich voice. "We'll send you a postcard." He turned to the Clapper. "Let's go." As they left the facility Croft inured himself to the screams and yells. But one voice in a forest of conversation caught his ear. "Never grateful, never grateful, no…. do not try the first hamburger, not the first one, Croft!" But when Croft turned to find the person who spoke, he was gone. Two hours later, after dropping off the Clapper and running some other errands, Croft made his way to the roof, on the 192nd floor. It was only there that one could appreciate the Majesty of August, the capitol of the Alliance, one great city of skyscrapers spread out over most of a continent. Here, near the planetary capital Sarney Sarittenden, the bulk and height of the buildings were especially intense. The sun beat down at him and the wind whipped at his body as he walked on the crunchy green turf. A man in a chef's hat stood cooking on the far side of the roof, on an old fashioned grill. Croft slowly walked towards him. "Really, Levi, I don't know what you see in all this," said Croft. "I like outdoors," said the man. His name was Levi Esherkol, and he was one of the most brilliant scientists working for the Agency. But he also liked to cook. Levi pressed down on the meat, and the dripping juices raised a fire which surrounded the burgers. "Ready, I think." "Levi, I don't have time for this." "Always time for quality food," said the cook. He handed Croft the hamburger. The smell was delicious. Croft's first instinct was to bite into it, but then, remembering something he had heard, lifted the bun and looked at the burger. "Levi!" "What?" Croft showed him the burger. There was a bug mashed on top of it. "How that get there?" said Levi. "Sorry." He took it away and gave Croft another. After careful inspection, Croft bit into it. It was really good. "Eh? Eh?" said Levi, watching his expression. "Use specially flavored hickory chips. You like?" "Um," said Croft, chewing a bit and then swallowing. "I like, I like. But Levi, about the problem I commed you about-" Levi looked down at Croft's boots. "I look in service, file, your boot size 10.1, correct?" Croft nodded. Levi reached behind the grill and handed Croft a pair of black boots that looked identical to the one that Croft was wearing. Levi looked pleased with himself. "I even got color right!" "Yes, Levi, but I already have boots, and how is this going to protect me >from Graftonite gunmen?" said Croft. "I was expecting some sort of portable forcefield-" "Don't have portable forcefield, certainly not on short notice," said Levi. "What do you have?" "Look in boot," said Levi. Croft raised the right boot and looked inside, but only saw darkness. "No, left boot!" Croft did the same with the left boot, but only saw the same thing. "No, not look!" said Levi. "Feel!" Croft started to put his hand in, but Levi grabbed his arm. "Gently!" said Levi. Croft, nodding, cautiously put his hand in. He felt an unfamiliar lumpiness on the roof of the interior of the boot. "The padded area?" Levi nodded. "Gas injector. Step on foot with other foot, and injector will send compressed gas injection through skin." "What kind of injection?" "Accelerant. Experimental," said Levi. "May accelerate bodily functions fast enough to compete with Graftonites." "May?" "Experimental," said Levi. "Works on chimps for short periods." "Chimps," said Croft. "Will this make me faster than the Graftonites?" "Not sure," said Levi. "Depends on your bodily chemistry, and formula." "Maybe I'd better ask a chimp," said Croft. "One more thing. Watch out for side effects." "What side effects?" Croft asked. "Dizziness. Maybe some nausea," said Levi. "Not likely life threatening. Only lost one chimp." "Only one?" said Croft. "Not directly related to serum," said Levi. "Chimp fell off roof. Wrong to test it up here, but was nice sunny day." "Oh," said Croft. "It still sounds dangerous. Isn't there anything else-" "Best can do on short notice," said Levi. "Do you have few weeks?" "No." "Then all I can give." "Well, that's all I can ask for, I guess," said Croft. "I'm bringing the Clapper, maybe that will help even the odds." Levi gave a short laugh, which wasn't encouraging. Croft turned to go. "Croft?" "Yes?" "Looking for new meat recipes, Graftons famous for. If time, can you-" "You bet, Levi," said Croft. "Priority one." Actually, Graftonites were famous for their meat recipes. That was one of the many things that Croft learned on the trip to Grafton II. Sylvia Tane was a veritable fountain of information, telling him much more than he wanted to know about Grafton. Croft had actually been to Grafton before, but he had to admit that Sylvia knew a lot. "Did you know that over 90% of the population are dedicated carnitarians?" said Tane. "No," said Croft. The Clapper sat quietly, watching the conversation. He generally only clapped when he was nervous, or bored. "They refuse to eat fruits or vegetables," said Tane. "Fascinating," said Croft. "Is there anything in your database that tells us how to win a gunfight against them?" "Gunfight? You're not planning to challenge any Graftonite, are you?" "No," said Croft. "I was thinking of the other way around." "It is not uncommon for Graftonites to challenge others to gunfights, but only if they feel insulted, or if they don't get what they want," said Tane. "My advice is not to insult any of them and to give them whatever they want." "I wonder if any of our late operatives insulted the Graftonites," said Croft. "I did notice from the holoimages that all of them had their blasters out," said Tane. "If someone challenges you, simply refuse to fight." "Haven't you ever heard of Graftonite killers? They'll kill me whether I defend myself or not," said Croft. "Well, certainly, there are some of those in Grafton society. But there is also a strong cultural belief in the fair fight." "The fair fight?" "Yes," said Tane. "That all gunfights should be one on one. That a Graftonite shouldn't be attacked by surprise, or sniped at long distance." "A code of conduct for a planet of killers," said Croft dryly. "Don't dismiss it so casually, Mr. Croft," said Tane. "I've read of instances of Graftonites who disregarded the rules who were hunted down and killed by their neighbors. Some of them take these things very seriously." "What about the Graftonites who hire themselves out as killers?" "Yes, they generally do," said Tane. "But their victims are almost always non-Graftonites, so it doesn't really matter if they have an opportunity to defend themselves or not. But as long as no one has been hired to kill you, you should be all right. After all, you're a sheep." "What?" said Croft. "That's what Graftonites have started calling non-Graftonites. Sheep. It's meant as a visual metaphor for the weak, those unable to defend themselves. It's meant disparagingly, but actually may help us," said Tane. "How?" "Well, sheep are looked down upon, but they're also pitied. If someone simply killed a sheep without cause, his neighbors would look negatively on that," said Tane. "Uh huh," said Croft, aware that despite what Tane said, any Grafton could kill them for any reason he wished. Then another thought struck him. "But we're not posing as off-worlders, as least not in public. We're supposed to be posing as Graftonites." "Well, that was the Chief's idea. I can't be responsible for that," said Tane. The Clapper clapped twice. It was going to be some trip. Chapter 2 Basking in the Hospitality of the Silencer Croft drew his blaster lightning quick, appraising his opponent in the mirror who drew just as fast as he did. Studying his stance for a moment, he holstered his blaster and drew it again. "You won't need to do that," said Tane. "We're going to pass for Graftonites. Nobody's going to challenge us." Croft gave a short laugh. "Graftonites are always challenging each other." "They only challenge people they think are weak, like off-worlders," said Tane. "They don't challenge each other unless it's over something really important. Since we will be posing as native Graftonites, we shouldn't have any trouble." Croft drew his blaster again. This time, he thought he was slightly faster. Good. He turned away from the mirror and set his blaster to the test setting. Tensing again, he drew his blaster and fired immediately, hitting a crate some twenty feet away. Not bad, but not good; he had been aiming for the crate above the one he had actually hit. "No matter how much you practice, you'll never be as fast as the natives," said Tane. Croft hadn't told her about the accelerant that Levi had given him. It was still experimental, Levi had said. Only to be used as a last resort. Croft wasn't enthusiastic about injecting a barely tested drug into his system, but if he were faced with a Graftonite killer, he would have no choice. "A more productive use of the time would be spent reviewing the data on Grafton," said Tane. "We will be landing on Regular in just a few hours." "Regular?" Croft said idly, continuing to practice quickdrawing, firing, and reholstering his weapon. "Their capital, and, it appears, their only city," said Tane. "If you can call a locale of only 120,000 people a city." "Only 120,000 people?" said Croft. "What about the other almost eight million Graftonites?" "They're all spread out, all over the countryside," said Tane. "You see, it's things like this you should be learning, and not playing with your weapon. I can help." "You want to help?" said Croft. "If I can," said Tane. "Can you move right over there?" Croft asked, indicating the crates he had been targeting. "I need to practice on a human shape." When the freighter touched down, Tane said, "I hope you spent at least some time figuring out a course of action. The Chief's initial orders are to find out more about this Quandry and what his intentions are, but we have been some latitude in how we approach this. I suggest we begin by reviewing the local media database-" "Fine, you do that," said Croft. "But I didn't come all the way here to review their local media database." "Then what do you plan?" "First we pick up our contact," said Croft. After substantial effort Column had ultimately succeeded in hiring a local Graftonite to accompany them for a premium. Given the anti off-worlder sentiment, it was lucky they had found anyone at all. His name was Tallas Carper, and that was all Croft knew about him. "And then?" "We'll drop by a friend's place," said Croft. "May I remind you that we're here on official business," said Tane. "I think you just did," said Croft. Croft and Tane stepped out onto the tarmac at the Regular Spaceport. Although it was the largest spaceport on the planet, it didn't have connecting tubes to the arrival terminal as most spaceports did. Most of the traffic that came through Regular was cargo freight; if Graftons needed to travel off-planet, they used their own fighters or small transports. A mile away, Croft appeared in the crosshairs of a sniper scope. "I have him," said the slightly accented voice. "They did send Croft, as we predicted. Shall I kill him?" the sniper asked. "Fool!" said his superior, a woman with light brown straight hair whose eyes flashed as she grabbed the sniper rifle away from him. The sniper and the other members of the observation team looked up at her with surprise. "Don't you think it would be the tiniest bit suspicious to kill Croft in so public a place?" said the woman. "Yes Major, but-" "And don't you think that at this range a kill would be far from certain? You might only wound him, and put him on alert." "Yes Major, but-" "And wouldn't it be wiser to first find out what he's doing here, and what his mission is, before liquidating him?" "Yes Major," said the sniper. "But you are only observing our mission and so I thought-" "What you most obviously did not do was think," said Major Nancy Kalikov of the Slurian Special Tasks Bureau (STB). "Follow him, learn what he's doing and what he knows. Once we find out what he's up, to, then you may kill him." They entered the arriving building. To Croft's surprise, there was no customs inspection. Tane had told him that their luggage wouldn't be inspected, but he hadn't believed it. "Customs inspections only occur when there are rules about what may come in or out of the planet," said Tane. "There are no such rules. Nor is this even a public spaceport." But there was one line they had to stand on before they left the building. When they got to the head of the line, a bored looking Graftonite said, "200 credits." "200 credits? For what?" said Croft. The Graftonite looked at him oddly. "Import tax." "But how can there be an import tax if there's no government?" Croft asked, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be playing the part of a native Graftonite and if he were a native he would know about such things. The Graftonite, who, like all Graftonites was armed, sighed. "This spaceport is a private facility. Nothing here runs for free. " "But 200 credits, simply for the ability to walk out of here?" "If you're poor, don't come to Grafton," said the Graftonite. His hand casually went down to the area around his holstered weapon. "Are you saying that you're challenging the entry fee?" The Clapper's eyes grew round. "No," said Croft quickly, paying for him and Tane and the Clapper. "Thank you," said the Graftonite coldly. As they stepped out of the terminal Croft found himself blinking in the bright morning sunlight. Everyone around them was wearing blue denim pants and jackets, almost as if it were a national uniform. Of course, given the ruggedly individualistic nature of the Graftonites, there could never be any such thing as a national uniform. Croft, Tane, and the Clapper were clad in blue denim too, all part of the Chief's plan to have them pass for Graftonites. "Where's our contact?" said Croft, looking around. There were a few Graftonites standing around outside the terminal, but none made eye contact with them. Croft keyed up a picture of Tallas Carper on his personal data unit, then looked around. He didn't see anyone who looked like this Carper in the area. "I told him when we were arriving," said Tane. "Did you also tell him to meet us here?" said Croft. "I think so," said Tane. After a pause, as she tried to reconcile her memory with what she wanted to believe, she said "I presumed that was self-evident." The Clapper clapped twice. Croft sighed and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal his personal comm unit, while simultaneously pulling up the comm code for Tallas Carper. In seconds he was speaking to their contact. "My name is Clifford Croft," said Croft. "That's nice," said the stone cold voice on the other end. "We're here, at the spaceport in Regular," Croft said. "Good to know," said Carper. "Why aren't you here?" Croft asked. "I haven't received the first installment of my payment," said the even voice. "Our arrangement was to pay you on a weekly basis, at the end of the week," said Tane, speaking into Croft's comm. "I'm altering our arrangement," said Carper. "I want to be paid a week in advance, effective immediately." Croft put his hand over the comm unit. "Are you sure you couldn't find anyone else?" Tane shook her head. "No one wants to work for off-worlders right now." Croft took his hand off the comm unit. "Just a moment." He took another device out of his pocket with a small keyboard, and started typing away. Then, a minute later, he returned to the wrist comm. "Done." "Just a moment," said the voice. Then, "Confirmed. What are your instructions?" "How long would it take you to get to the Regular spaceport?" "About four hours." Croft sighed. "Forget it. Just meet us at the following address," he said, providing him with a specific location. After signing off, he glared at Tane. "What?" said Tane. "We'd better go rent a groundcar," said Croft. The groundcar, like everything else on Grafton, was expensive. When Croft tried to negotiate the price, the owner said, "Perhaps you'd prefer going to my competition." "Where is your competition?" "I have none," said the proprietor. "Only off-worlders need to rent groundcars, and we don't get many of those." "But 500 credits a day is outrageous," said Croft. "If you're poor, don't come to Grafton." Croft sighed, paying. It wasn't his money, after all, but he disliked being gouged under any circumstances. Plus, he was sure that the Chief would micromanage his expense reports. They drove for several hours in silence, only occasionally punctuated by brief outbursts of clapping. "Does he always do that?" Tane said irritably after one outburst. "Yes. I've even seen him do it in his sleep," said Croft. He stopped at a crossroads to study the onboard map (which had cost 20 credits extra per day). Then he turned off the paved road onto a dirt road. They had a bumpy ride for the next hour. "Roads are one of the few services handled by the local governments," said Tane. "Obviously they haven't quite finished the job," said Croft, as the groundcar skimmed over a bump. "Their financial resources are quite limited, as I mentioned earlier," said Tane. "As I told you, their only source of revenue is a real estate tax on homes with-" "Inferior gunmen, I know," said Croft. After another hour they arrived at turn off the road which had a big sign that simply read, "Keep out. Intruders will be executed." "I think we're here," said Croft, carefully checking the map again. "Your friend lives here?" said Tane. "Friend is a strong word," said Croft. "I'm not sure Graftonites have friends. Call him an acquaintance." He drove the groundcar past the sign. A moment later they came upon an enormous ranch house surrounded by evergreen trees. Rows of colorful flowers were planted in front and exotic butterflies hopped from one petal to another. A Graftonite stood on the porch. Croft, Tane, and the Clapper got out of the groundcar. Instantly the Graftonite's blaster was in his hand, though Croft hadn't seen him draw it. "I guess you can't read," he said simply. "Wait!" said Croft, raising his hands in the universal surrender gesture. "I'm here to see the Silencer. I'm his friend." The man gave a hoarse laugh. "What's so funny?" Croft asked. "The Silencer hasn't got any off-worlder friends, sheep." "He does have one, and his name is Clifford Croft," said Croft. "If you kill me without asking the Silencer first, he'll be very angry with you." The man considered for a few seconds, and there was no telling what might have happened next if another voice hadn't interrupted. "Ted! Put that gun down," said a woman who had stepped out of the front door onto the porch. They turned to see a woman with brown wavey hair wearing the traditional blue denim jeans but also a brown leather vest, the first non-blue color they had seen anybody wearing since they had arrived. She wore two pearl handled pistols, one holstered on each thigh. The Graftonite immediately lowered his gun. "These sheep say they know the Silencer." "That one at least does," said the woman. "And it's not polite to call our guests sheep, at least to their face." She turned to Croft. "Clifford, what a surprise! What brings you here?" Croft turned to face the Silencer's wife, Annie Oakley. It was not the name she had been born with, of course, but as the winner of the Gold in the Galaxy Trick Shooting competition five times running she was entitled to be called whatever she wanted. "Hi, Annie. I'm here to see the Silencer. I need his help," said Croft. "John's a bit busy right now getting ready for a mission," said Oakley. "But I'm sure he can spare a few minutes for you. Follow me." They followed her into the spacious house through a maze of rooms. They arrived at a room filled with equipment and provisions where a tall, thin man with dark hair was filling up a rudsack. "John, I have some unexpected guests to see you." "Tell them I'm not here." Croft cleared his throat. "It's a bit too late for that." The Silencer allowed surprise to show on his face, but only for a moment. "Croft. What are you doing here?" he said, as he continued to pack. "I need your help," said Croft. "Sorry, I'm off on a mission," said the Silencer. He looked over a weapons rack, picked out two blasters, and weighed one in each hand, as if deciding which one to bring. Frowning, he made a decision, putting both in the rudsack. "This is important," said Croft. "So is my mission," said the Silencer. "What is it?" said Croft. "Bounty hunt," said the Silencer. "I'm talking about preventing a war." "I'm talking about collecting a big fee." "I see," said Croft. "John, I'm here to talk with you about Mo Quandry-" "He's no concern to me," said the Silencer. "He will be if he plunges Grafton into war against the League." The Silencer closed the rudsack, lifted it up, and turned to Croft. "As long as he stays off my property, doesn't try to take a cut of my bounty, and keeps away from my lovely wife, I really don't care." He walked past Croft to Annie, gave her a perfunctory kiss. "Bye killer," he said to her. "I'll see you in two weeks, maybe ten days if things go even easier than I expect." "I'll see you, John," Oakley said, watching him go. She seemed spellbound for a moment, but when the Silencer left the room she quickly snapped back to the present. "I'm sorry John was in such a rush, Clifford. Would you like a drink before you go?" They sat out on the porch drinking Vorsk, a coarse local liquor that burned Croft's throat after the first sip. "You're here about Mo, I heard," said Annie. "It's no surprise, really." "What's it all about, Annie?" said Croft. "He's been stirring people up, saying we aren't getting true value for our labor," said Annie. "He says that we're the best fighters in the galaxy, which is true, of course. But the controversial part he's talking about is upping our compensation rate." "How, by unionizing?" Annie laughed. "We already have the bounty hunter's guild. No, Quandry is saying we should simply go out there and take what we want." "Like he did on Grafton IV," said Croft. "Only he didn't simply rob the planet, he actually occupied it." "Yes, that was unusual," said Annie. "His people have effectively taken over. They collect the taxes, tariffs, and fees, and are getting quite wealthy, I'm told." "How many people does he have there?" Annie shrugged. "50, maybe 100." "He controls an entire planet with only 100 people?" "I suppose," said Annie. "You look surprised." "Well, you people are fearsome warriors, but can 100 of you really stand up against a 100,000 man army? Or a blockbuster bomb?" Annie laughed again. "You think in such conventional terms, Clifford. Yes, if you lined up 100 of us against 100,000 of you, we'd only manage to kill a few thousand of you before we were taken down. However, that's not the kind of war that Quandry waged." "What kind of war did he wage?" Croft asked. "You'll have to ask him," said Annie. "I wasn't there." "You seem remarkably unconcerned," said Croft. "Don't you care if Quandry drags Grafton into a wider war?" "I'm not involved," said Annie. "In fact, 99% of Graftonites aren't involved." "What?" said Croft. "Oh, he has his supporters, and a lot of sympathizers, maybe, though since they don't take many polls here, his level of support is hard to tell," said Annie. "But if you're asking how many blasters he has behind him for action, well, it can't be more than a few hundred, maybe a thousand or two." "So you think we're blowing this out of proportion," said Croft. "Not at all," said Annie. "He's gaining strength all the time; even I can see it. And a few thousand Graftonites can conquer a lot of planets." Croft still couldn't understand how a handful of Graftonites, however skilled they might be, could take over an entire planet. It was a matter that merited further investigation. "But things didn't really start going crazy until Rel Caldwalader was killed," said Annie. "Cad--who?" said Croft. "A bounty hunter," said Annie. "Was gunned down a few weeks ago." "I would think that can happen in your line of work, even to a Graftonite," said Croft. "Yes, but it's seldom done by one's own employer," said Annie. "Rel did the mission, but when he went to collect his bounty, his employer tried to cheat him, only paying half. When Rel refused to accept it, he was gunned down." "Ouch," said Croft. "But I find it hard to believe that a typical Graftonite could simply be gunned down." "Anyone can, if you have the element of surprise, and five people jump out of an alley with guns blazing," said Annie. "That was the other galling thing about it. It wasn't a fair one on one fight. It was a surprise hit, and five on one at that. That really rankled people almost as much as the hit itself." "What do you mean?" "On Grafton when someone calls out someone else, it's almost always one-on-one," said Annie. "It's considered sportsmanlike. The combination of Rel's employer first trying to cheat him and then kill him in such an unsporting way enraged people here. They kept broadcasting holos of the hit over and over on the local networks. It was only after a few weeks of that that Quandry riled up enough supporters to invade Grafton IV." "There was a holo of the event?" said Croft. "Yes, I think it was recorded by a security holovid," said Annie. "I'm surprised you don't know all this already, this is all public knowledge; don't you have any operatives on Grafton?" Croft, remembering the images of the dead operatives, said, "We have some, ah, holes in our surveillance network." Annie was about to reply but suddenly frowned as a groundcar pulled up in front of the ranch. Her hand instinctively snaked down to one of her pearl handled pistols. She wasn't expecting guests. She was silent, watching, as a man in blue denim with his right arm in a sling stepped out of the car. Seeing Annie, he nodded respectfully, keeping his good arm well away from his holstered weapon. The newcomer turned to Croft. "You Croft?" he asked gruffly. Croft nodded. "You must be Tallas Carper." The man nodded. "What happened to your arm?" Croft asked. "I scratched it," said Carper, suddenly giving Croft an unexpectedly hateful glare. "Well, our ride is here," said Croft. "Thanks for the drink, and the information, Annie." "You barely touched your drink," said Annie wryly. "Feel free to give John another try when he gets back." "I may do that," said Croft. As she entered the house Croft turned to face his team. "So now that we're all together, what do we do?" Tane asked. "I think the most obvious thing to do is to pay Mr. Quandry a visit," said Croft. "I don't think he likes off-worlders," said Tane. "That may not be very safe for us." "Then it's a good thing that the Chief has cleverly had us disguise ourselves as Graftonites." Carper snorted. The Clapper clapped. "What's with him?" Carper asked. "He has enthusiasm," says Croft. "Shall we go?" Chapter 3 The Face of the Enemy They tapped into one of the local online information networks (for a fee, of course--nothing was free on Grafton II), and quickly discovered that Quandry was holding a Great Meeting on a ranch in the middle of the continent the following day. It was too far to go by groundcar, so they had to rent passage on a private transport. With a maximum of prodding, Carper located a transport they could rent. Croft steeled himself for the outrageous price they had to pay and simply billed it, but he knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do to the Chief afterwards. During the trip out Croft tried to size Carper up. He studiously avoided eye contact with all of them, and defied all of Tane's attempt to start a conversation with him. "So, what do you normally do for a living?" said Tane. Carper glared at her. She timidly stared back. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to look away, he said, "I answer stupid questions." "I'm just trying to be friendly," said Tane. "Be anything you like," said Carper. "Does your injury hurt you?" said Tane. Carper turned to face her. "What are you implying, sheep?" he said his voice cold. His good hand strayed close to his holster. Tane started to tremble. "I… I…" "Are you saying I'm weak?" "No, most certainly not!" said Tane. Carper relaxed his good arm, and some of the tension seemed to evaporate. "Are we paying extra for attitude?" Croft asked. Carper glared at him. "The only reason I'm asking is, because if we are, I'm happy to say we're getting our money's worth," said Croft. It was a very long and quiet trip in the transport after that. When they touched down in a small, private clearing, they rented a groundcar. They drove to an estate of a wealthy rancher who was permitting Quandry to use his estate for the Grand Meeting. "As it is a Grand Meeting, there could be anywhere from 100 to 500 people here," said Tane, as they entered a small stadium on the grounds. The bleachers filled up rapidly. They looked for seats. "Watch it, sheep," said a Graftonite, pushing past Croft. Croft checked his anger. He saw some seats and went for them, but by the time he got there another Graftonite walked right in front of him and sat down. "Going somewhere, sheep?" They eventually found seating on the upper edges of the bleachers. As they sat down a pair of Graftonites sitting in front of them turned around and looked distastefully at them. "I didn't know they allowed your kind here, sheep." Croft turned to Tane and muttered, "This disguise is working really, really well." Just how were the Graftonites able to determine that they were off-worlders just by looking at them? Croft resolved to find out. He tapped the man in front of him on the shoulder. That was a mistake. The man whipped around, his blaster pointed at Croft. No one spoke for a moment. The man waited for Croft to draw. Croft slowly raised his hands and gave a watery smile. "You got a death wish, sheep?" said the Graftonite. "I just want to know what makes you think we're off-worlders," said Croft. The man snorted, shook his head, and turned around to face forward. Croft looked at his companions; Tane looked frightened out of her wits; the Clapper looked idiotically content; and Carper looked like he wished he were somewhere, anywhere else. In a few minutes the bleachers were filled. Croft took a quick count of the audience; there were well over 1000 people there. Maybe Annie had underestimated Quandry's appeal. A tall, dark haired man with a scar running down the side of his face stepped out into the arena, flanked by several guards. He had a blaster on one hip and a foil strapped on the other. His image was amplified on holograms above and around the arena. Croft recognized him immediately. It was none other than Mo Quandry. He stood there for a moment, boldly basking in the attention of the crowd. Immediately, there were wild cheers from the audience. The cheering went on for several moments, until Quandry gestured with his hands for it to subside. Reluctantly, the audience went silent. "Thank you, my friends," said Quandry. "As many of you know, I'm a man of action, not words, so let us get down to business. You have all seen this." The large floating holograms suddenly showed a grainy side street. A Graftonite could be seen standing there, in the middle of the conversation. "You can't be serious," said the Graftonite. "I delivered on my end of the contract. Now you pay up." "I'm afraid I can only afford to pay half," said the man the Graftonite was speaking to. While the Graftonite's features could clearly be seen, the other man was largely off camera--only his hands and body could be seen. "That's not acceptable," said the Graftonite. "I was afraid you might say that," said the man. Suddenly, the image they were watching panned wide to show the image of blasters poking out of several surrounding buildings. They discharged almost simultaneously, even as the Graftonite was drawing his weapon. The Graftonite fell to the ground, his eyes open, as blood dripped from his body. Dark boots walked by his face. "If I had known Graftonites worked so cheaply, I would have hired more of you," the figure chuckled. There were screams and roars in the arena as the image faded. It took Quandry several minutes to quiet them down far enough so that he could be heard over the amplification system. "You see!" he yelled. "They didn't even give him a chance! That's the way the sheep fight!" He was greeted by more yelling and jeers. "But now see how we fight!" A new holographic image appeared, that of Graftonites running and Shooting in a different setting. Dimly, Croft guessed that these must be scenes of the invasion of Grafton IV. The Graftonites there didn't have the accelerated reflexes of their cousins on Grafton II. But they did have a substantial standing army. How did these Graftonites conquer it so easily? The answer wasn't forthcoming from the holo that was being showed. Graftonites jumped and shot rapidly, moving almost took quick for the holo to record. But what they were shooting at and what the overall tactical position was couldn't be determined. The images were also obviously put together from small clips, making it difficult to clearly see what was going on. But the clips showed their purpose. "See what happens when we unite, when we take the fight to the sheep!" said Quandry. There was a thunderous applause. "There will be no more jobs for piddling fees, no more exploitation of our labor!" There was more applause. The Clapper, unable to restrain himself, started joining in. "We took Grafton IV like it was an apple waiting to be plucked!" said Quandry. The crowd roared again. "But never let it be said that we do not seek peace," said Quandry. The crowd was silent, expectant. "I propose a new… paradigm for dealing with other planets." There was widespread laughter at Quandry's use of the word paradigm. "Since we are stronger, more equipped, and yes, superior, in every way, to other planets, each inhabited planet should pay us a… fee, a fee for protection," said Quandry. The crowd roared with approval, clapping wildly. So did the Clapper. "If a planet peacefully pays its assessed fee every year, we too will leave them in peace," said Quandry. "But if they do not, they will feel our wrath!" The crowd roared. In a room deep inside the stadium, a group of Graftonites looked at the monitors. "Where?" said one of the Graftonites, the one in charge. His name was Janson Rocco, and he was Mo Quandry's chief of staff. "I had it a moment ago," said one of the Graftonite security men, panning the image across the stadium bleachers. Suddenly, he saw what he was looking for, and stopped the panning. "There!" The image showed Croft, Tane, and the Clapper, sitting around other Graftonites. To an uneducated eye, the image didn't look odd, especially when everyone was clapping. But it was when everyone stopped clapping that the oddness became apparent--the Clapper didn't stop clapping. "Sheep, sir," the security man reported. Rocco snapped his fingers. "I want them removed." "Alive?" The security man inquired. "At least one of them, yes, for questioning," said Rocco. "Do you care which one?" said the security man. "Not really," said Rocco, turning away. Two men suddenly materialized on either side of Croft and his team. "You will come with us." The other Graftonites in the audience, who were still listening to Quandry, turned to give Croft a withering stare. "Did we sit in reserved seats?" said Croft, giving a little smile. "I'm not going to ask again, sheep," said the Graftonite coldly. Croft looked over at Carper, who was carefully looking away. Perhaps their bodyguard, with only one good arm, didn't feel fast enough to take on two of his countrymen. All right, they would play along. Nodding, Croft got up. Tane, the Clapper, and Carper followed. They were led to a small room without windows where a serious looking Graftonite awaited them. They weren't disarmed, but two Graftonites stood guard behind them. "Who are you?" said the Graftonite bluntly. "My, ah, name is Clifford Toft," said Croft. "I'm from Regular." "The truth, sheep," said the Graftonite in bored tones. "All right," said Croft, giving Tane a I-told-you-so look. "My name really is Clifford Toft. I'm leading a special diplomatic envoy from the League." "You've got some nerve showing up here. What are you doing here?" "Assessing the situation," said Croft. He was abruptly aware that if the man behind the desk didn't like his answers, he wouldn't leave the room alive. "Assessing…" said the man, as if he were thinking, weighing options, alternatives. Croft felt as if the decision came out the wrong way, he would be dead. The man turned back to Croft. "And what have you assessed so far?" "Um" said Croft, not sure how much to lie, "I was… impressed that Mo Quandry is looking for a peaceful solution." The man gave Croft a cynical stare. He considered for a moment longer. Then he nodded. "All right," he said. He snapped his fingers. His guards opened the door. "Is that 'all right, you can go?' or 'all right, shoot them'?" said Croft. "I think you'll find out when you get outside that door," said the Graftonite. "Now get out of here and hope we never meet again." Croft got up slowly. "How can I hope we never meet again if I don't know who I just met?" "The name is Janson Rocco. I'm Mr. Quandry's chief of staff," said Rocco. "Really? Could you arrange a meeting with Mr. Quandry?" said Croft. Rocco chuckled. "The only time you and Quandry will meet is if he shows up at your funeral. Now get out of here before I change my mind." Croft nodded, slowly leaving. But he noticed that Rocco gave Carper a disproving stare as they left. After they had left, one of the security men said, "What shall we do, boss? Shall we tell Mr. Quandry-" "You will tell Mr. Quandry nothing!" said Rocco. "I don't pay you to talk." "Yes sir." "I will talk to Mo. For now, simply follow them. There's something not quite right about that diplomatic envoy." "We'll never be in danger," said Croft, in a whiny voice, as he drove the groundcar off the grounds of the ranch. "We'll pass for Graftonites. No one will figure out who we are." Carper chuckled. Tane reddened. "It was the Chief's idea," she said. "And you assured me it would work," said Croft. "It almost got us killed." "I don't understand how they recognized us as being off-worlders," said Tane. "Well, maybe we should ask an on-worlder," said Croft. "How were we recognized?" There was silence in the groundcar. Croft carefully pulled over to the side of the road and turned to Carper. "I'm talking to you." Carper gave Croft a withering look. "It should be obvious, even to a sheep." Croft kept his anger in check. "You're an employee; answer the question, employee," he said, purposefully dragging out the last word. Carper's face darkened, and anger flared in his eyes. He didn't speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was soft. "It should be obvious. It's everything. It's the moron with the idiotic expression on his face. It's you and the woman with your defeatist body language and feeble expressions."