“We tried, sir. He disappeared.”
The whole tavern was filled with females. Throb should have been delighted to be surrounded by so many, some even beauties—and after more than a year without seeing anything feminine! But he had seen them stream out of the factory, saw the drab protective clothing they wore, and the signs of servitude sickened him.
Ri’isthin was easily the most beautiful of them all, and it should have been an almost intoxicating pleasure to share a drink with her, even if the brew had not been alcoholic. Still, he couldn’t hide his agitation.
“You are brave, to come into a place filled with bitter females,” Ri’isthin said sarcastically. “Yet I can see you are troubled by more than being so greatly outnumbered.”
Throb couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How can you labor for the conqueror! Like slaves!”
Ri’isthin winced, but shrugged with determined fatalism. “We choose to live—and so many males died in the war, so many more males than females, that we have no husbands. How else are we to find food and shelter?”
Throb took a deep breath, then took the plunge. “What is the depth of your courage?”
The first shuttle blasted the pad and settled down. The hatch opened, the gangway extruded—and the females filed down, looking around them at Barataria in wonder.
Goodheart’s crew shrilled with delight and shot out toward them.
Every crewman grabbed a female and whirled her away—but there were 180 males left unpartnered.
Not for long.
The second shuttle touched down, and the third—then the first blasted off to go back for its second load.
Goodheart stood watching them, controlling the raging tide of his own hormones with difficulty.” ‘You chose my world well, Globin—and Throb has brought us life for it.”
“It is wonderful to see them happy,” Globin murmured, eyes on the men.
Goodheart frowned at the new note in his henchman’s voice, and looked down at him. “Ah, poor lonely Globin! Shall we find you a female, too?”
But Globin shook his head with granite resolve. “The only ones who would want me, Captain, I would not choose. Even if they wished marriage, it would not be me they’d want; they would only accept me because they could do no better. No, let me take joy in my shipmates’ pleasure.”
That was when Goodheart began to think of Globin as a being in his own right.
”Are you certain there is no ship near, in hyperspace, Globin?”
“I am sure, Captain. My detector shows nothing.”
“But it must be bait for a trap!” Goodheart paced the deck, agitated. “What else could it be? A passenger liner, dropped into normal space with its distress beacon screaming—why would the humans make themselves such easy prey?”
“Then wave a flag to show us where they are?” Throb echoed.
Globin said, “It could be a genuine emergency . . .”
“If so, we shall pick them clean!” Goodheart turned with decision. “And if it is a trap, we shall pick their bones! But if the snare is set, I will trip it alone! Prepare my pinnace. “
“No, Captain!”
“You must not risk yourself!” “We would be lost without you!”
“I volunteer!”
“I volunteer!”
“And I!”
“And I!”
“And I!”
The pinnace shot away moments later, staffed with three valiant crewmen. Throb and the other officers eyed the captain as though they were ready to pounce.
The pinnace docked. Three spacesuited figures drifted into the airlock.
“Leucocyte?” Goodheart called. “Are you there?”
“The lock is cycling, Captain.” Leuco’s helmet-camera showed them the interior hatch. The green patch lit, and Leuco’s hand came out to haul the hatch open. “We are entering.” The edges of the hatch swam out of sight . . .
The screen was filled with Khalian faces.
Goodheart stood stunned. So did Leuco.
Then, as from a distance, Goodheart heard Leuco say, “Why have warriors come cold to the void?”
“We wish to enlist with Captain Goodheart,” one of the Khalians answered.
Then, suddenly, the air was filled with keening.
“Do not leave us to labor in the conqueror’s shadow!”
“Do not condemn us to fight for our enemies!”
“No clan will battle the humans! Give me a leader!”
“Take me!”
“Take me!”
“Take me!”
“Do not turn us away!”
“Volunteers,” Goodheart murmured, awed.
Globin nodded, eyes glowing. “I know how they feel.”
He looked up at Goodheart, beaming. “You have made a new beginning for us all, Captain.”
“A whole shipful of Khalians?”
“Yes, sir.” Sales’s face, beyond the shadow of the desk lamp, was filled with disgust. “Don’t ask me why the shipping company was willing to lease them a liner.”
“Or why Emigration let them all get on the same ship? They’re free beings, Commander, not slaves—we can’t stop them without very good reason.” The admiral scowled heavily at the list on the screen. “If they want to go, we can’t stop them!”
“Even if they’re going to kill humans?!?”
The admiral shrugged impatiently. “Prove they’re going to join Goodheart—ahead of time. But with this ship lost, I don’t think anyone’s going to be interested in a charter for a band of Khalians again. You can tell the spaceports to watch the small ships, though, Commander.”
Lo did—and they managed to prevent several yachts with “joyriding” Khalians from leaving port. The joyriders turned out to have an amazing amount of weaponry with them—but the warriors had not surrendered their personal arms, and they claimed they needed to be able to defend themselves in case of attack by pirates.
That they needed the weapons for the pirates, Sales didn’t doubt.
But he couldn’t prevent Khalians from booking passage on liners with human passengers. And if the pirates attacked, and some humans lived, but the Khalians failed to come back, who could be surprised?
Sales wondered how many Khalians were working only to save up enough money for another round trip on a liner, hoping against hope to be pirated.
“He calls himself Globin.” Sales held up the candid shot for the admiral to see. It showed Globin at a newscreen in a spaceport; he seemed to be staring right up into the camera set next to the screen.
“Ugly enough.” The admiral frowned at the picture. “He makes weapons deals for Goodheart?”
“We’re pretty sure he’s the one who made the three weapons buys, yes. But this time, he ordered metal.”
“Metal?” The admiral looked up, frowning.
“Yes, sir. A superfreighter of manganese, aluminum, nickel, iron, and a whole list of more exotic supplies.”
“That’s industrial bulk. Just how big is this Goodheart growing, anyway?”
”He’s got to have a base, sir,” Sales said, “a mighty big base.”
“Big enough to set up his own weapons factories! Shut him down, Sales—shut him down!” He tossed the holo back. “And if this Goblin ever sets foot on a human planet again, arrest him! I want him tied, tried, and fried.”
“Yes, sir, Admiral.” Sales didn’t correct his mistake—he used it. And fed it to the rumor mills, and the public opinionators.
Within the year, there wasn’t a human on Target or Khalia who didn’t believe the psychotic Goblin was the worst villain the race had ever spawned.