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“I’d rather have it on the table in front of me. And bring one for my friend, here. Mohs?”

Lando jumped up. Mohs was gone.

So was the Key.

Turning quickly, Lando glimpsed the raveled tail of a gray-rag garment whisking through the door-drape at the back of the room. He was through the little crowd and across the room with a speed that startled even the robots.

He grabbed—

And received a collection of knobbly knuckles in the teeth!

Spitting blood, Lando seized the wrist attached to the knuckles, bit down hard in the meaty edge of the palm. Mohs let out a yelp and brained his erstwhile Lord left-handed with the Key. Releasing the old man’s arm, a dazed, surprised, and angry Lando went for the throat with both hands, catching Mohs’ knee, instead, right between the legs.

Lando groaned and sank down to his knees, fighting the urge to vomit.

This, however, put him in a position of advantage. As the elderly native—Lando couldn’t make himself stop thinking of the savage in this manner—came in for another shot with the Sharu Key, Lando grabbed the nearest naked, dirty ankle that came to hand. Mohs went down on his back, with Lando on top, the old man biting and scratching.

By this time, Vuffi Raa had made it to his master’s side, where he hopped up and down, shouting advice that Lando couldn’t hear and probably wouldn’t have followed. It was scarcely a fair fight. As much as he would have liked to, Lando couldn’t punch the “helpless” old fellow into submission. He simply attempted to hold on and ride the furious storm to its conclusion.

They rolled across the storeroom, crashing into crates and cartons, and at one point fetching up against the lower extremities of the bartender, who had joined Vuffi Raa in supervising and kibitzing. For a brief crystalline moment, Lando looked up.

“You’re being a lot of help,” he said to the bartender.

The mixerbot remained motionless. “Beating up old men is a little out of my line, Captain. Besides, you look like you could use the practice.”

Abruptly, Lando was sucked back into the fight. Mohs bashed him on the head again, but a bit more weakly. Lando grabbed the Key, then managed to lever himself into a sitting position astride the Toka Singer, grab a forelock of shaggy white mane, and bounce the elderly head once, gently but firmly, on the floor.

Mohs struggled for another moment, then relapsed into passivity.

“Naughty, naughty, Mohs,” Lando said, gasping for breath as he looked down at the ancient. “No fair doing Holy Things without the duly constituted Key Bearer’s help.”

Mohs concealed his face in his long, emaciated hands. “Thou mayest kill me now, Lord. I have sinned greatly.”

With considerable effort, Lando cranked himself back into a standing position, reached a hand down to the native, and helped him up.

“By the Emptiness, that’s the first sign of spirit I’ve seen from any of you people.”

He sat down, panting, on a stack of plastic cartons in the dingy rear hall. “But, from now on, just keep in mind who’s the sacred emissary here, will you?” He held up the Key. “I’m in charge of this eyeball-bender for the duration. Keep that in mind, and we’ll get along fine. Vuffi Raa?”

The robot trundled up beside him, his tentacles a tangle of nervous excitement. “Yes, Master? Sorry I couldn’t help you back there, but—”

“I know, I know. In your estimation, how long will it take for Gepta’s crew to sabotage the Falcon the way they said they were going to?”

The droid considered: “Not more than an hour, Master. It’s merely a matter of unshipping the toroidal dis—”

“Spare me the technical details.” Lando turned to the old man, who seemed to be recovering more quickly than he was. “Mohs, we’re headed for the spaceport to begin our little excursion. Are you ready to come along and behave?”

The old man nodded humbly, bowing. “Yes, Lord, I am.”

“Then let’s get moving—and don’t call me Lord.”

Mohs stole a glance at Vuffi Raa, nodded again. “Yes, Master.”

“Mohs,