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The crystal shook again, apparently nodding. "Of course. Were it not for the potential threat to the Well itself I would say blow the ship now and be done with it."

"The Yaxa group is at least two months from completing its hardware," Ortega noted. "Shall we say—thirty days on this spot?"

"Done," replied the Ghiskind. "In the meantime, let me acquaint you with the terrain and logistical problems involved. I assume you have already talked to the Bozog?"

Ortega smiled. "Oh, yes. Those little rolling bastards shouldn't be underestimated. If we can get them a pilot, they can get the ship."

He sighed, suddenly deep in thought. Then he reached over with his lower right hand and pulled open a drawer, taking out a thick file. chang was written on its cover.

Now, after all these years, I can pay my own debts, he thought. He punched an intercom button with his middle right hand.

"Sir?" came the crisp voice of a female Ulik.

"Zudi, tell the Ambreza to bring Mavra Chang through the Zone Gate to me. They'll know what it all means. And tell them to bring Joshi, too, if she and he want."

"Right away, sir," the secretary replied.

He felt better. He'd been wanting to give that order desperately for twenty-two years.

Glathriel

The Parmiter groaned. It wore a partial body cast. Grune, the big lizard who'd been burned, sympathized from beneath the massive bandages on its back and side.

"Oh, shut up, both of you," snapped the other great lizard known as Doc. "Damn it, if Grune, here, hadn't rolled onto me, I'd still have had her!"

"You didn't happen to be on fire," Grune responded angrily. "Want me to put a torch to you and see if you roll right?"

"Take it easy, both of you!" the Parmiter responded. "This bickering gets us nowhere. We're still alive, we've still got this ship and a well-paid crew of nasties, and we've still got the problem of snatching this Chang."

"Why don't we just drop it?" Grune snarled. "Hell, piracy and robbery might not pay as well, but I sure never got fried doin' it."

"We can't and you know it!" the Parmiter retorted. "There's big money behind this job. You know the only ones with enough to outfit a ship like this in nothing flat and put up the kind of front money for a crew and expenses we got is a hex government. A government, dummy! One crooked enough that it knew who we were, where to find us, and that we'd take the job. If it knows that and is indeed a government, we'd have to emigrate to the Northern Hemisphere to save our necks anywhere on this world—and even that might not be enough."

That thought quieted them, so the Parmiter was again able to concentrate. "Look," it said, "let's think this through. We've already gone back in and seen that the compound's deserted. The natives were in an uproar, so they don't know what happened. No sight of any Ambreza yet, so they haven't got her. So, where is she?"

"Hiding out in the woods, most likely," Grune suggested. "Or on the run for some hex."

"Right!" the Parmiter responded. "Now, we must go on the idea that she and her boyfriend don't like the Ambreza. After all, they cooped 'em up there. So south's out. Ginzin's over two hundred kilometers north, and it's a holy hell of a mess anyway. They'd be picked up by the Ambreza before then for sure, or dropped into those boiling tar pits if they made the border. They got brains. That's why they're still free and we're wracked up. Now, if we suppose that maybe they didn't go any of those places, what's left?"

Doc considered the question. "There's only water otherwise," he pointed out. "And they can't lift their noses far enough to keep from drowning."

"We are on the water, aren't we?" the Parmiter replied patiently.

Grune brightened. "They had a boat? Or took one?"

The Parmiter nodded. "Now you're gettin' there. Remember that big boat we had to dodge yesterday? I bet it was their supply ship. If it was, it stopped, saw the mess we made, and maybe . . ."

Doc nodded. "But that's