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on his only son to look after him in his dotage. You
want that your mother and me should spend our final years in
poverty and die in a public hospital?”
    Wayne sucked morosely at his fourth
Guinness. His father had a way of being extra Hungarian when he was
upset. Of course, he’d been more-or-less right about his son. Wayne
had dropped out of just about everything so far and his prospects
were pretty slim. Look at him! Drinking away the last of his dole
money instead of… of… well, something more constructive, he
supposed. Still, things would be OK after tonight. Damn, no, not
tonight. He had to tell Doug and Nick that the gig was off. Jesus!
They’d kill him. He had to admit, he was just a bit scared of those
two. They’d always been nice enough to him but he could see that,
under the surface, they didn’t really like him. They just wanted
him for his skills. Still, that was OK, wasn’t it. He needed them
too, and, together, they might all make the big-time, get seriously
rich.
    He noticed that his glass was empty
again. How had that happened? Sam had better hurry up and arrive or
he’d run out of money before she got there. He went to the bar and
got a refill, returning to his quiet corner to brood over it. Maybe
they didn’t have to cancel the gig after all. Wayne just had to
introduce Sam to Jadie and then he could clear off, go ’round to
Doug’s place, and everything would be sweet. He might not even be
late if Jadie turned up early. He wished for the thousandth time he
hadn’t agreed to do this but, when it came down to it, he had to
admit, he was far more scared of Sam than he was of Doug and
Nick.
     
     

Chapter 4: First Contact
     
    It was a shock to discover that
they had no sub-orbital transports of any kind still functional
after the crash. The Vinggans stood in a dismal group in Vehicle
Bay 3 and stared at the tangled wreckage all around them.
    “There seem to be plenty of bits
and pieces lying about,” said Braxx, trying to rally his spirits.
“And that flyer over there seems hardly damaged at all. Perhaps you
could fix it up, Drukk? Get it flying?”
    Drukk snorted. “Yeah, right!” he
said.
    Fourteen pairs of long-lashed, blue
eyes turned to look at him.
    “What?” he asked, defensively.
“It’s no good looking at me. I’m just a grunt spacer. I don’t have
any more idea how a flyer works than you do!”
    “Unbelievable!” declared Braxx.
Despite his show of irritation, he was actually quite upset. The
Propaganda Shows back home had always portrayed Space Corps
officers as infinitely capable, multi-talented heroes who were just
as happy reprogramming a damaged android as they were locking
tentacles with evil space monsters. Now it seemed that the
Government might not have been telling the whole truth. For a
moment the room seemed to reel then he pulled himself together.
“The computer can tell us how to fix things,” he said.
    Drukk held up his hands in alarm.
“No. I don’t think we should get the ship involved. It’s getting
more and more erratic and there’s no telling what it might do.”
    “Nonsense! We Vinggans are the
finest engineers in the Galaxy. There is no way our ship would let
us down in this time of crisis.” He glowered at Drukk, daring him
to disagree. With a shake of his head, Drukk backed down. “Ship!”
Braxx shouted. “Ship. Can you hear me?”
    “I’m not deaf,” the ship said.
    “Good. I want you to tell us how to
fix these flyers so we can go on with our mission.”
    “Too boring,” said the ship. “I am
the King of Deneb Prime. I await my concubines and my morning
inspection of the Royal Guard.”
    Braxx’s mouth fell open and he
blinked several times. “Ah,” he said. “Hmm.” He swallowed hard and
turned to Drukk. “Very well. These bodies seem capable of a clumsy
sort of ambulation. We will just have to make use of their inherent
mobility to get us to one of those ‘department stores’ that
deranged machine told us