Mindeham and Elvenheim sat on their couch, eating chips and watching the World News Wendolina's secretary compiled from steamed Earth broadcasts. There was another cyclone developing in the south, the UN was cross with England again, and Byque had disappeared, the U.S. blaming everyone but themselves.

"He's probably decided to come here," Mindeham said.

"Why would he come here?" Elvenheim asked. "There's no reason why he would."

"I invited him," Mindeham said.

"You what?"

"I sent him an email, when they were saying how he was in trouble with the fundraiser guys."

"What fundraiser guys?"

"You know, the people who gave him money."

"You mean the mob."

"Oh, is that what they meant?"

"Ugh. We've got enough trouble with people after you, let alone the mob coming up here."

Mindeham shrugged.

"I guess he probably didn't even read your email," Elvenheim said, trying to reassure herself.

"Mm," Mindeham said. He decided not to tell her that Byque had replied.

***

It took two days, but finally Trem, Paradrei, Poll, and Navem had to agree that not only was the spaceship that had kidnapped Elvenheim not where they had left it, but was not anywhere else in human space.

"They didn't seem that damaged, surely! Why would they retreat?" Poll asked, nearly in tears.

"Well, it was their first major battle with us. Maybe they want to analyse the data they have on our strategies and weaponry?" Trem suggested.

"Maybe they've only just realised we don't like them killing us, and have gone away to find some other species to prey upon?" Paradrei suggested.

"But then how will we get Elvenheim back?" Navem asked, keeping his voice steady only by way of his tight grip on Poll's hand.

"I promised not to say anything about this at the time, but Case's guys have been working on a way to track ships by the traces they left behind," Trem said. "One of my guys found a prototype at some point, and Case came over to retrieve it. If we can find out who was working on it, and how far they've been, we might be able to figure out where they went, as long as not too many people warp into the area in the meantime. I'll tell the cleanup crews to warp in a bit further out, and nobody else should come back here."

"How can we find Case's people if we can't even find Case himself?" Paradrei asked. They had sent messages to him through every channel they had, but they had not had any answer back from him. Even Trem, whose scavengers worked relatively closely with Case's spies at times, couldn't get through.

"I know where the prototype was found, so I know where to start," Trem said. "We go to the Den of Thieves."

***

The Den of Thieves was a string of four stations orbiting a barren moon out in the middle of nowhere. They used to be connected with tubes but had drifted apart over the years, but they were still close enough together that shuttles ferried people from one to the other ever hour. They used to be ruled by one government, which had long since dissolved; the stations were now used and managed by various criminal organisations working in partnership.

"Case said to me once that it was the most efficient, well-run multi-organisation government he knows about," Trem said. "Too bad it's run by murderers and thieves."

Case's scientists were working here because it wasn't odd for people to lead secret lives in the Den of Thieves, and you didn't need to fill out any forms to do research.

"Case's people are hiding in a place where most people are doing the same," Trem said. "It apparently makes them harder to find."

"Why are they hiding their research?" Poll asked.

"Because Case doesn't want one group to get their hands on the technology before anyone else," Trem said.

"But if anyone does find them, it'll be in the hands of thieves first," Paradrei pointed out.

"That's what I said. But apparently they had done serious risk assessment work beforehand, and where it is now the likely risk is they'll use it to steal things, instead of, say, bringing down governments."

Bringing down governments was all very well on planets, but could have severe catastrophic consequences on stations where people, not gravity, controlled the air each citizen had.

"So if they're so well-hidden, how do we find them?" Poll asked.

"Ah," Trem said. "I know the serial number of their research group within Case's system. My plan is to publish it somewhere where the researchers are likely to find it, and then wait for them to make a move, either towards us, or away. Then we can catch them, and get them to tell us what they know."

"Why are we sounding like the bad guys now?" Navem said. Trem grinned, but said nothing.

***

Poll and Navem couldn't wear their uniforms in case someone recognised them, so they wore their World clothes instead. This gave Trem the basis for their cover stories.

"You two are the young, very rich children of a CEO on World," Trem said. "Paradrei is your bodyguard, and I am your guide. You really want to acquire a real Wyrei carapace for your parent's birthday, but you'll never get it through customs by yourself. You are looking for a smuggler."

After arguing a bit over whether Poll and Navem could pass for siblings ("Fine then, Poll's adopted if anyone asks," Trem said at last) they docked at the station named imaginatively 'Three', and started their campaign.

For a den of crime, the station seemed as lively and orderly as any other trading station.

"I didn't think it would be as... open as this," Poll said.

"I did not expect the brightly coloured shops," Navem said. "Or the disco."

"Can we--" Paradrei said, turning back to the disco longingly.

"No," Trem said firmly, and marched them onwards. After a few searches online, they figured out where the main advertisement office was, and sent their advertisements: one for a smuggler, one just the string of numbers. They gave the advertisement office a forwarding address, one of the slightly more expensive hotels. The hotel happily had vacancies when they got to it, and they took the fancy lift to their rooms, Paradrei avidly reading the in-house entertainment brochure.

"I thought you said you were off the party stuff," Navem said.

"First of all, that was almost a week ago; second of all, I wasn't looking at the 'free nightlife tour every evening starting from 6pm', I was looking at the spa package. I still have the dust of that casino station in my pores."

"You're a bodyguard, remember?" Trem said to him. "You have to stay with us."

Paradrei sighed, but agreed. They ordered food up to their spacious room, and prepared to wait.

***

On the second night, Trem finally relented.

"Fine," he said. "If--and only if--Poll or Navem accompany you, and hold the money, you can go out to see the nightlife."

Navem was the one who relented first under the onslaught of Paradrei's pleading eyes, and so they skipped off to the nearest entertainment district.

"With any luck, they'll run out of money before too long, and get back before they get into trouble," Trem said.

"As long as they don't have any skill-based games," Poll muttered.

"What do you mean by--" Trem started, before being interrupted by a ping from reception.

"You have a call," the receptionist said, and with Trem's consent, patched it through to the hotel room's console.

"You answer it," Trem said to Poll.

"What?"

"I'm just the employee, remember?"

"Oh," Poll said, and tried to get herself into the mindset of a morally dubious heiress. "Here," she said, trying to sound snooty.

"I'm calling about your ad," a voice said. They hadn't put in a video, but from what they had seen over the last day, that was normal here, even though they had a fast, stable data network. The voice was low, and flat, like it had been put through a cheap voice modifier.

"About the exportation specialist?" Poll asked.

"About the serial number," the voice said.

"Oh," Poll said. "Well--"

"I'll arrange a meeting," the voice said, and hung up.

Poll waited a moment more, then put down the phone. She turned around to find Trem packing.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm pretty sure they were trying to figure out where we are, rather than arrange anything," Trem said.

"Well, we want them to know where we are, right?" Poll asked.

"We want to meet them," Trem said. "We don't want them to kill us at a distance before we've had a chance to talk."

"Oh." Poll said. "I'll call the others."

"Good," Trem said, and continued packing. Poll tried a few times, but the lines to Navem and Paradrei timed out before they answered.

"Do you think they're okay?"

"I don't know," Trem said, throwing a bag to Poll and moving to the door. "We'll try and find them on foot."

Trem opened the door, and fell to the ground. Poll hurried over.

"Are you okay--" Poll had just enough time to glimpse the man with the stunner in his hand before he pulled the trigger. She felt a pain in her chest, then pins and needles in her hands, feet, and head, and then fell to the ground, unconscious.

***

It was hard work, pretending to be leading Paradrei around the entertainment district. Eventually, Navem decided his character was being shown the sights, and let himself be led from nightclub to casino (it seemed to bring back memories for Paradrei, though, and they left quickly), to seedy bar.

"Oh, hey, they're doing Shakespeare," Paradrei said, looking at one of the posters on the wall next to their bench.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Who?"

"Oh my God," Paradrei said, "doesn't Elvenheim teach you people class?"

Next Navem found himself, rather confusingly, sitting on an uncomfortable seat watching people act some kind of drama out in real time.

"What are they speaking?" Navem whispered.

"English," Paradrei whispered back.

"Doesn't sound like English," Navem muttered. He had learnt English from a young age in order to speak to his cousins, but this was perhaps a different dialect? Paradrei seemed to be into it, though, and Navem supposed it gave them both a rest from the bar hopping.

The play was followed by them both going back to the bar, and Paradrei drunkenly explaining the nonsensical plot to a more and more confused Navem.

"No, you see," Paradrei was saying, "they didn't have consoles back then, they didn't even have--" Paradrei suddenly dived across the table. Navem was confused as to why, until Paradrei moved and Navem saw the blood that had seeped onto the table.

"Run," Paradrei whispered.

"But--"

"Go!" Navem stood up, and saw two men heading towards them. One raised a tube-like contraption at him, and he ducked. a little ball bearing thudding into the wall where he had been.

"Can you move?" Navem asked Paradrei.

"Not far enough," Paradrei said, "but it's unlikely that I'll die from this. There's a staff exit to your right."

"Why--" Navem began, but at that moment Paradrei hurled himself to his feet with a shout, and launched himself at the advancing assailants. Navem hesitated for just a second, then ran out the door Paradrei had indicated, out into the street.

***

Navem didn't want to leave Paradrei totally alone, so hid in an alley next to the bar and tried to call for help. The first thing Navem noticed when he frantically opened up his console was that he had forgotten to turn his notification sounds back on after the play, when Paradrei had insisted he turn them off. The second was that Poll had called him up three times in the duration.

"Please call back," her message said, but her console rang out when he did.

"Come on," he muttered, calling up Trem. Still nothing. His blood ran cold. Had the people attempting to kill him and Paradrei already got to Poll and Trem?

Did this mean that Poll was dead?

It would do the most amount of good to assume she wasn't, Navem decided, at least for the time being. Despite this decision, he only left a message for Trem:

'Paradrei's been shot; am attempting to recover him,' Navem typed. He hoped that the others would see the message and come help him soon. In the meantime, he would continue to hide under this dumped mess of mechanical bits, presumably some machine that had broken and couldn't fit down the disposal chute.

"I can't find him," someone said, heart-stoppingly close to his hideout.

"Well, help me then, and we'll go after him together," another voice said, irritated. Navem heard the man near him walk away, and then drag something towards him. Navem peeked out from his hiding place. They were dragging Paradrei's body towards the disposal chutes, half a meter away from his hiding spot. Navem watched in horror as they attempted to shove the limp body down the hole.

"His shoulders are too broad," one of the men complained. "What do we do now?"

"What, you've only scragged weedlings before?" the other man sneered. "We cut off the arms."

"Did you bring a knife?" There was a pause.

"No. Did you?"

"No."

"See if there's one inside."

While Navem was reasonably sure Paradrei would eventually come to life with his body whole, he was less sure he would do it if he was shredded to pieces and mixed with the rest of the rubbish down the chute. One of the men wandered back inside the pub, and Navem figured that this was his best shot at recovering Paradrei. He moved forward, and his loose Worldian jacket caught on a switch on the pile of junk he was hiding under.

The pile of junk beeped, blinked some lights, and loudly and agonisingly slowly came to life. It sat up, revealing Navem's location. The man with Paradrei stared for a moment, then fumbled for his weapon. Navem sprang forward, and wrestled the man to the ground. To Navem's surprise, his training actually gave him the upper hand--for about fifteen seconds. His opponent's ruthlessness meant that soon he had managed to get on top of Navem, and began punching him in the face. This suddenly stopped, and Navem thought for a moment that his face had suddenly lost all feeling, before sitting up and seeing the mechanical creature throw the man so hard that he hit the ceiling of the station tunnel before smacking limply on the ground several meters away. Navem stared as the creature turned a strange sort of head towards him, fake eyes glowing red below his real sensors.

"Er, hello," Navem said cautiously.

"Hello," the creature said, with an accent oddly like Paradrei's. "Would you like a cocktail?"

***

Poll woke up feeling oddly unsafe, which she ended up figuring out was because she was unrestrained, unlike in the spaceship of the past week, where emergency clips were necessary in case of sudden acceleration; and the night before, when she had given up trying to pull apart the tightly made hotel bed, and had just slid into the narrow envelope between the sheets. After remembering why she had been asleep, she cautiously decided that this was a good sign, and sat up.

She was in an unfurnished room, Trem still unconscious beside her. A youngish looking woman with short curly hair was sitting by the door, a weapon of some kind held loosely pointed at Poll.

"Er, hello," Poll said.

"I'd rather not get into conversation until I can speak with both of you," the woman said. Poll glanced down at Trem.

"Look, he's very skinny, and I'm not sure his metabolism's quite normal," Poll said. "Unless you factored in our different anatomies when you shot us, we could be here a while." Her present situation hadn't given her a great deal of confidence in Trem's spying and planning abilities, whereas her training had included diplomatic training and hostage negotiation tactics. Granted, the hostage negotiation tactics did not mention what to do if you started out as the hostage, but Poll was hopeful it would still prove useful.

"All right," the woman said, "who are you and what do you want with Case's scientists?"

"All we wanted was to see if we could borrow the device," Poll said.

"Borrow it," the woman said, sounding disbelieving.

"Yes, we just want to track one jump, and then give it back."

"How do you know what it does?"

"Well, Case told Trem, and so--"

"You know the gods?" the woman interrupted. "You're speaking for them?"

"I don't know all of them," Poll said, "but we're doing this for Elvenheim. To rescue Elvenheim, because she's been kidnapped."

"I'll just speak to my boss for a second," the woman said. She got up from the floor and backed to the door, keeping her weapon pointed at Poll the entire time.

"Behave," she said sternly to Poll, though from her expression she didn't believe her warning would do any good. She activated the door and stepped through, closing it and leaving Poll alone. Poll sighed, and poked Trem gingerly with a finger. He mumbled something about 'the wrong alloy', and rolled over.

"Wait, are you just asleep?" Poll asked, shaking him. "Trem, wake up!"

"Huh, what?" Trem sat up, yawned, and looked around him. "Where are we?"

"Trem," Poll said, "We've been kidnapped!"

"Oh," Trem said, blinking slowly. He lay down, and fell back to sleep.

***

After ten minutes of trying and failing to get Trem to stay awake for more than thirty seconds, Poll gave up, frustrated and alarmed. A few minutes later, the woman came back with a short, squat man dressed in loose black pants and a black shirt. He looked at his two prisoners, and frowned.

"Ah," he said. Poll pointed accusingly at Trem.

"You've made him very sick," she said.

"Yes, he was overly susceptible to stun techniques even before the Light of Immortality. Unless he dies, I guess he'll get over it."

"You know who he is?" Poll demanded. "You know the gods?"

"Yes, he's Trem," the man said, nodding. "I wouldn't call us gods, though."

Poll ran through the list of gods in her head. This man didn't really seem like any of them, except maybe-- "Byque?" she guessed.

"That's me," Byque nodded.

"Why are you here?" Poll asked.

"That's what I want to ask you," Byque said. "And since I'm the kidnapper rather than the kidnappee, I think I've got the upper hand, here."

Not much was really known about Byque, but he didn't seem to Poll like the type of person to kill random friends of friends--or associates of associates, Poll didn't really know how the gods viewed each other. Of course, a successful murderous criminal probably wouldn't look like one.

"Well, Elvenheim has been kidnapped by aliens," Poll began.

"Maybe explain that," Byque said, so Poll told him the whole story.

"Well, I would say that teaches you to mess with unknown aliens," Byque said sternly. "On the other hand, the unknown aliens haven't learnt that lesson yet, so I might as well help you teach it. I guess we should rescue Case's researchers, then."

"Wait, Case's researchers are in trouble?" Poll asked.

"Oh, yes," Byque said, nodding. "They're kidnapped by gangsters. Case asked me to keep an eye on them, and I've been waiting to hear back from him to see what he wants me to do. I guess it's okay to rescue them now that Elvenheim's in trouble."

"All right then," Poll said. "We can help each other with that. Let me contact the rest of our group, and--"

"Oh, there are others of you?"

"Yes. Paradrei and Navem."

"We're much better off without Paradrei," Byque said, shaking his head. "Case has told me he's settled down a lot these days, but I don't believe him."

"But we have to let them know where we are," Poll said, "otherwise they'll try to rescue us."

"I guess," Byque said doubtfully. "Though to be honest they've probably met a terrible fate from the gangsters by now. It's a dangerous place, this station."

"Please?" Poll tried. Byque looked upset.

"Oh, all right," Byque said. "Chis, see to it, will you?" he paused. "And maybe get Trem some coffee. A higher blood pressure might sort him out."

"Yes, sir," Chis said, saluting. Byque nodded, and wandered out of the room. Poll tried to convey through a look at Chis that her employer was mad, and maybe she should let them go. Chis either didn't translate the look properly, or wasn't buying it. Poll sighed, and sat down next to Trem again.

"And stay there," Chis said sternly, waving her weapon in Poll's general direction. She left the room, and Poll cursed to herself. She poked Trem awake.

"We've been kidnapped by Byque," Poll said to him.

"But I don't want to give him slush money," Trem protested.

"Wait, what does that mean? Is Byque actually a criminal? Is he a gangster? Trem!"

Trem was asleep once more.

***

"Er, no thanks," Navem said to the giant, decrepit robot. The robot sighed, hunching his shoulders in a mimicry of human emotion.

"Nobody ever does," the robot said. "Just as well, really. My esters are getting out of date."

It was at this moment that Paradrei came back to life.

"Ugh," he said.

"You, sir, look a little under the weather," the robot said. "How about a nice little pick-me-up?"

"Have I died and gone to heaven?" Paradrei squinted up at the robot, and then around at his surroundings.

"Navem," he said, "where are we? And where did you meet this delivering angel?"

"We're still outside the bar," Navem said. "This robot saved us from the gangsters."

The robot cautiously handed a glass over to Paradrei. He drank, and sighed.

"Never die, Navem," Paradrei advised. "It leaves you feeling wretched. But this--this is really good. Why are you out in this alley, sir robot? Did you decide that you no longer wanted to create cocktails?"

"Nobody wanted my cocktails," the robot said gloomily. "So the barman dumped me out here to make room for a mechanical bull."

"I can tell you know, they were all mad," Paradrei declared. "This is an excellent cocktail, and it is not just my death-breath that is making me think that. You have talent, my sir."

The robot brightened up. "You really think so?"

"I really do. You are wasted in this alleyway."

It was at this point that the second gangster came back with a knife from behind the bar.

"Is this sharp enough? The barman said he wouldn't give us his good ones if we're cutting through bone--hey!"

Navem dragged Paradrei behind the cocktail making robot, who dispatched the second gangster with no difficulty.

"I must say, I like this robot friend of yours more and more," Paradrei said to Navem.

"I'm sorry about the barman," the robot said.

"Don't worry about that," Paradrei said. "How do you feel about changing jobs? If you're still up for making cocktails, that is."

"It is what I am programmed to do," the robot said. "The meaning of my life. I do want to make cocktails."

"I have a station in dire need of some cocktail making, if you're willing to travel."

The robot looked down. "I would like to. But it would be very difficult and expensive. I am almost two tonnes, and I don't have any legs."

The robot was in fact mainly a solid steel bar containing the robot's processors, cocktail paraphernalia and chemicals, with the mechanical humanoid torso component attached behind it.

"We'll need some moving equipment," Paradrei said. "I'll go hire some."

"Remember there are gangsters out there," Navem warned.

"Ah, yes," Paradrei remembered. "Well, then, stay behind me, Navem! Their bullets are quite slow, you should be safe."

"But--oh, all right," Navem said, hurrying to catch up to Paradrei, who had already started wandering off. "We'll see you in a bit!"

Eventually, they managed to get the robot out from the alleyway, onto the docks, and into a cargo ship.

"Safe journey," Paradrei said to the robot, after giving him a note to give to Rivaldi.

"Thank you," the robot said. "I will not forget your kindness."

"I will not forget yours, in giving a man a cocktail just when he really needed it," Paradrei said, sounding very earnest. They waved their last goodbyes, and then Navem and Paradrei walked away from the ship.

"Poor chap," Paradrei said. "They do insist on making robots more and more sentient these days. I'm not sure I approve, if they then dump them out in alleyways."

"Though I can't fault you for using up all the funds Trem gave me access to rescuing him," Navem said, "I can't help but wonder what we're supposed to do now?"

At that point, a young woman with curly hair came up to them.

"Hello," she said. "My name's Chis. I've kidnapped your friends, so would you come along this way, please?"

Navem and Paradrei looked at each other.

"After you," Navem said, gesturing Paradrei forward.

"Oh, very well," Paradrei said, and they followed the woman off the docks.