"Gas!" shouted the Absolute. "Cover the entry ports!"

He was smaller than I"d guessed from news coverage, but his voice made him seem a giant. I wondered if he had some sort of hypnotics implant because I found myself relieved to realize I was already heading that way-though from behind the wall.

I radioed my guess to the others, suggesting they switch off any external sound reception.

A fanatic now covered the duct through which I"d dropped the pellets, but I was sliding toward an opening closer to the floor. It was a squeeze, but I made it, ending up flat on my stomach, but with my arms free and in front of me. From here I had a clear view of two sets of closed and locked doors. With another wriggle, I managed to get a slim, high-powered energy pistol out of my sleeve holster.

Without bothering to remove the duct cover, I squeezed off a beam targeting the lock mechanism.

Beatty-confirming my guess that he did a little piracy in his spare time-had a.s.sured me that a direct hit would cause the door to unlock.

When I fired, the fanatics jumped back from the explosion of heat and light, spinning to see where the shot had come from. They didn"t have time to come after me. My buddies were forcing the door open and giving them lots to think about.

As much as I wanted to watch, I shifted my attention to the second door and fired again. When that door was opened, I started kicking. With my cover blown, I was like a cork in a bottle and I didn"t want to be stuck there if someone got a moment to give the cork a pull.

By the time I had struggled free, the fight was over. It hadn"t been easy for all its speed. We"d lost two and several more were wounded-including Spike who had a nasty burn along one arm-but we had won.

Spike stood over the collapsed Absolute, blaster in hand, his triumphant pose balanced by an expression of wide-eyed shock as he looked at the carnage. Several of the fanatics had gone killer-crazy and now their internal organs were splattered on the bulkheads. The rest had been taken prisoner and were being herded to a makeshift brig.

My leg muscles still cramped, I staggered over to Spike.

"Get to, man. See a medic," I said, taking the blaster from him. "We"ve still got work to do."

"Gotcha, Allie," he said. When he managed one of those funny grins, I knew he"d be all right.

While rapid repairs were made to those of our ships that had taken damage during that first barrage, the Deep Pockets was stripped to the very dust in her hold. Spike, recovered somewhat now, stood by the exit port, taking pictures of the goods for later identification and research into the pirates" activities.

Spike claimed the Deep Pockets as AASU"s cut and no one was complaining, not with the rich haul from her hold as compensation. Spike had declared that the booty-which if insured by AASU now legally belonged to the company- was being awarded as payment for services rendered.

Jeremy Langthorp and his surviving shipmates were offered the choice of waiting in the brig or parole to work the ship. Wisely, they offered their parole. They knew their chances of escape were nil. Already, several of the black ships were approaching and some out-system traffic was drifting in our direction.

Cooperation would help their case.

Despite Spike"s a.s.surances that they were safe from arrest, the various members of our outlaw fleet chose to depart before the black ships arrived. I itched to join them, not liking the Silent Watch a bit, but I kept telling myself I had nothing to fear from them. This time I was an official insurance investigator.

Then I remembered. Spike had his own ship now. My job was done. My own ship"s tiny hold was full of perfectly legal goods that I could sell elsewhere for a tidy profit. Why should I wait around?

I grinned, gunned the Mercury"s engines, and surged off into interstellar s.p.a.ce, Endpoint"s sun glowing over my shoulder.