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Keill shook his head。 'We'll stay here； you'll tell me what you know； then I'll go and get the money。'
Crask's laughter was even more Unpleasant。 'You don't get the idea at all。 You're a drifter； a nothin'。 You don't know nobody here； nobody knows you。 So nobody's gonna raise trouble if you're found face…down in a gutter。 Happens all the time t' drifters。 Get drugged up； get into trouble； get dead。 Nobody cares。'
As he spoke； Crask slid a meaty hand into a pocket and dragged out a slim plastic cylinder。 A needle…gun … more likely； Keill knew； to be armed with a killer poison than an anaesthetic。
The other three men also drew out weapons。 Two had the knobbly metal clubs favoured by backstreet thugs on many worlds。 The third； unusually； had a glowing therm…knife； its blade superheated so that it burned； rather than cut； through most materials … including human flesh。
Keill stood calmly； watching； seeming not to move。 Yet his body was gathering itself； balanced； ready。
It was almost unfair。
The thugs were grinning。 They saw themselves as four tough； well…armed men facing only one man； empty…handed； helpless。
But they were facing a legionary of Moros。 A man whose people were trained … all of them； and from infancy … to the highest pitch in the arts and skills of battle。 And a man who； in his own right； had been a leading medal…winner for each of the previous two years in his planet's annual Festival of Martial Games。 Many of those medals had been for unarmed bat。
So Crask was still in the process of raising the needier when Keill moved。
He gave no hint or warning； did not tense or poise his body。 He simply dropped； full…length； to one side。
His right hand met the plasticrete； the arm rigid to take his weight。 On the pivot of that hand； his body swung in a horizontal arc； legs scything。
One boot swept the feet out from under a club…wielder。 The point of the other boot struck precisely against the beefy wrist of the hand that held the needier。
The crack of bone breaking was nearly drowned by Crask's shriek of pain。 As the needle…gun sailed away into darkness； Keill had already flexed his body like a spring and e to his feet。
Crask had staggered and half…fallen； clutching his shattered wrist and moaning。 The club…wielder whom Keill had felled was struggling to his feet； the second one had just begun to bring up his club。 Keill moved again with the same bewildering speed； slipping under the raised weapon。 A rib crunched as Keill's elbow slammed into the thick chest； and the man screamed and collapsed。 In the same motion Keill lashed out with his left foot； the blow perfectly timed； burying the point of his toe in the first club…wielder's bulging paunch； sending him hurtling back to collide with the knife…man； both sprawling。
The knife…man picked himself up； staring wide…eyed at Keill； who stood quietly； waiting。 Then the therm…blade drew a glowing curve in the air as the man's hand swept back； and threw。
As the white…hot knife spun towards him Keill seemed to sway aside almost lazily。 But the other man's eye was not quick enough to follow the movement of the legionary's hand as it flashed up and plucked the knife from the air by its insulated handle。
In a continuation of the same blurred movement； Keill pressed the stud that deactivated the blade； and with a snap of wrist and forearm hurled the knife back。
He had thrown to deliver the knife hilt…first； for he had no wish to kill。 The heavy handle made a dull smack as it struck the knife's owner exactly between the eyes。 He toppled backwards and lay still。
Keill stepped past the crumpled forms of the two club…wielders and took hold of the collar of Crask's coverall； effortlessly jerking the bulky form to a sitting position。
'I want what information you have；' he said quietly； 'and I want it now。'
'You bust m' arm！' Crask groaned； almost sobbing。
Keill tightened his grip； twisting so the collar bit into the thick neck。 'Your neck will break as easily。'
'Don't … wait！' Crask shouted； half…choking。 'I'll tell y' ！'
'Go on。' The steely grip eased a fraction。
'Don't really know much；' Crask mumbled。
Keill's other hand came round； palm under Crask's heavy jaw； bending the neck back。 'After all this； you had better know something；' he said grimly。
'Wait！ All right！' Again the grip eased； and Crask； gasping； began to spill out words。 'Just bar…talk； see？ Weeks back。 When everybody was talkin' about your planet； wonderin' how it happened； lots of rumours。'
'What kind of rumours ？'
'Just space talk。 You know。 One figures a sun flare； another figures a collision with somethin' from space。 Nobody knows。 Then one fella； freighterman； he says he's seen some legionaries。 Two； three of 'em。 An' they're like you … lookin' for others。'
'What did this freighterman say about them ？'
'Not much。 He didn't talk to them。 One of them was a real big son … dangerous lookin'。 But this fella； the freighterman； he heard that these legionaries were aimin' to set up a base somewhere。'
Urgency made Keill's grip tighten again on the collar。 'Where？'
'Listen； go easy； will y' ？' Crask pawed weakly at the fierce grip。 'Somewhere out near Saltrenius。 That's all he said … truth。 Don't know nothin' more。'
Without a word Keill flung the man aside and turned to move swiftly towards his ship。 Despite his control； his pulse had quickened； his eyes were bright； tendrils of hope rose within him。 He had heard tales of legionaries being seen； had followed them all down to their ultimate dead ends。 But this was different。 A fixed base； of course！ It was the right thing to do … and then from it send out the word to be picked up by any other survivors from Moros； to gather them in。
Above him the blunt wedge…shape of his ship loomed。 He sprang up the ramp and through the hatch of the airlock； sealing it behind him ready for space。 Strapping himself into the padded slingseat； he swiftly activated the control panel； feeding details into his guidance puter。 Around him the life…support system hummed sweetly into action； and in moments the ship rose howling into the night； on a towering pillar of almost invisible energy。
As he hurtled through the territorial space of Coranex； Keill brought himself under control； regaining his calm； his patience。 His eyes and hands automatically monitored the precision of his departure orbit； while his mind just as automatically sorted through the details of the journey ahead。 He knew his fuel core was getting near to needing replenishment； but it would probably last。 His air renewal； food concentrates and the rest would also hold out。 Thankfully； he would need no stopovers till he reached the planet Saltrenius。
Idly he wondered why the group of legionaries … two？ three？ … would choose such a place。 A sparsely inhabited world； in a minor system； well off the major spaceways。 What could it offer ？ And who； he wondered； was the big legionary whom Crask's freighterman had described as 'dangerous looking'？
But Keill had learned long before the futility of asking questions that could not be answered。 Answers would e when he reached Saltrenius。
He had reached deep space now； the planet he had just left r