Viktor huffed and puffed through the narrow alleys behind Din-Ryka. "We've got to stop and figure something out. This baggage is heavier than she looks."

Din-Ryka stopped and looked about, his mind spinning frantically, his breath burning in his chest. How could such a simple plan go so wrong? He harkened back to Viktor's warning, the simpler the plan the more difficult the execution. "Over there!" He pointed.

A two storey building with bright green awnings stood on a curve in the road between a garden of shrubs and flowers and an empty food stand. Crossing the street, Viktor handed his burden to Din-Ryka and proceeded to kick in the front door. They stumbled inside and headed immediately for the second floor.

Gothag and his men halted at the entrance to a warren of streets, wheezing and coughing from their rigorous pursuit.

"This is no good," Gothag moaned, "we'll split up and search. All we need is to catch sight of them, no heroics. Just yell as loud as you can and the rest will join up. Be off now."

Running as quickly as he had, made Marc a little dizzy and his head wound was bleeding again. He stopped to lean against a building wall while he wiped it with his sleeve and ponder which street to follow. There was no sign or sound of the others so after a moment, he chose to go left, the road winding up the hill.

Everyone in the city had gone down to the square and the empty streets and buildings echoed back his pounding footsteps. Reaching the top of the hill he stopped to listen again. Nothing. Now he was faced with three streets to choose from. Dabbing briefly at his head, he leaned over and rested his hands on his knees considering what to do. When it first caught his eye he didn't recognize it, but as he stepped closer his heart began to pound with excitement. It was the tiny horse he had given Kress, lying forlornly on the dusty brick road.

She must have had it with her and dropped it, or it fell from her clothes, he thought, picking it up and wiping it gently before securing it in his coat pocket. Heartened that he was going the right way, he started for the street nearest to where the horse had fallen but stopped suddenly, then flattened himself against the wall of a corner building.

Across the street, on a bend, he could see a shattered doorway under some green awnings. Suspicion made him cautious. Just then he heard voices behind him and, staying close to the buildings, he hurried back down the hill a short distance. Gothag and two of his men were slogging up the hill and cursing their luck out loud. Marc stepped out waving them forward and signaling for quiet.

"Marc! You're hurt. What's happened?" Gothag reached out and touched the wound gingerly.

He dismissed the attention, speaking hastily. "It's nothing. I'm fine. Here, I know nothing of guns." He said, handing the stunner to one of the soldiers and then hurriedly told them of the horse, the shattered door and his suspicions. Looking past Marc up the hill, eyes sparking, Gothag directed one of his men to find the others while they reconnoitered the house.

*****

Viktor looked at the dazed girl slumped on the floor in the corner and said, "She's coming around."

"Bind her arms and mouth." Din-Ryka commanded, peering through the window onto the street below. He was thinking now, that they must get back to the cave somehow and escape to Belgar with the girl. It was a bad choice since he knew Gothag would waste no time in invading Belgar. Nor would he quit without saving his daughter or failing that, raze the planet and all inhabitants. How could this have happened to him? The plan was so simple! He glanced at Viktor, busy tying the girl, wondering if he spoke aloud.

"There. She won't give us any trouble now." He stood and checked the power remaining in his stunner. "This isn't going to last very long if we get into a fight you know."

"If it comes down to a fight, it won't matter." Din-Ryka moved to the other side of the window and studied a different part of the roadway. "If our situation doesn't change, we'll wait until dark and head for the cave."

Viktor scowled and moved to stand behind his leader. "I say we tough it out. All that's changed is our location. We still have the girl, we'll just threaten her life as planned. You said Gothag would do anything to keep her from harm."

"I said. I said. I know what I said Viktor! But we are only two now, against the entire planet of Azwan." His voice rose and a trace of fear and uncertainty crept in.

"Is this the mighty son of Karl-Ryka?" Viktor scoffed sarcastically. "Is this the designer of the simple plan?" Din-Ryka whirled, fixing his taunter with an icy glare. Had he heard?

*****

Scurrying in behind the counter of the empty food stall, Gothag's soldier hunkered down to catch his breath. They had circled around the suspect house, through side streets and alleys and were now crouched down beside it.

"I encountered the others. Three are hidden across from the front and the other two are on the street behind us."

"So far so good." Gothag murmured. "Now what's the best move?"

"Well, the only way in is through the front door," Marc observed, "and common sense would have them upstairs . . . somehow we need to get on the roof. I'm sure, with no windows on this side, there must be a skylight. We could distract them from down here and attempt a surprise attack from the roof."

"The idea's good," Gothag agreed, "if there's a skylight and if we can get up there."

"I think we could from the roof of the stand." The soldier whispered. "The lad could get on my shoulders and pull himself up. Then I could climb on yours and he could pull me up."

Gothag turned to Marc, "Are you well enough son?" Marc nodded eagerly. "Then let's do it. But quietly! Remember, they have a stunner."

*****

Kress stretched her jaw and pushed with her tongue, trying to remove the gag, but to no avail. The strips of cloth Viktor had used to bind her arms were making them ache as she watched the two enemies of her father glaring at one another by the window.

"All we need is to show them we mean business," Viktor persisted, "and once we're inside Gothag's house with his family, everyone else will fall in line."

"And just how do we show them that." Din-Ryka argued, "All we have is the girl. If we kill her we have nothing."

Viktor threw his arms in the air and stomped away. "I don't know. We'll stun her again, in front of him. He knows the effect of these guns. Do it often enough and you die anyway."

Having nothing better to contribute, Din-Ryka turned back to the window, struggling with their predicament and weighing Viktor's argument. Fear of the situation gripping her, Kress renewed the struggle with her bonds.

*****

Discovering there was indeed a skylight, a flat frame of glass that hinged so as to open outward from the ceiling, Marc observed the room from different positions. His heart quickened when he saw Kress lying in the corner bound and gagged, relieved to see she was at least still alive. Silently he signaled Gothag that their plan was ago. Within a few a moments, Gothag and the three soldiers from across the street charged the front door noisily, calling for the captors to come out.

Din-Ryka jumped back from the window. "Looks like our choice has been made for us." He said grimly, watching the soldiers rushing across the street. "Quickly, get the girl."

As soon as Marc heard the clatter and shouting from Gothag's men, he and the soldier began lifting the skylight as quietly as possible. There was a soft scraping sound and a small shower of dust and gravel, trapped in the frame, fell into the room below. Reacting instantly, Viktor aimed his stunner at the roof and fired full power.

The force caught the exposed soldier full in the chest and with a short cry, he crashed through the skylight landing inside amid a blizzard of broken glass and wood splinters. Viktor leapt aside, bumping Din-Ryka up against the wall, while trying to reset the gun's expended power. Marc seized the opportunity and dropped through the roof, landing with a jarring thud and crunching the broken glass even more.

Dashing up the stairs, Gothag burst into the room just in time to throw a tackle at Viktor who was brandishing a deadly looking knife at Marc. The two men tumbled against the wall, grappling furiously for an advantage. Marc directed the other two soldiers who followed Gothag to grab Din-Ryka while he hurried to help the wide eyed Kress.

Pulling her away to safety from the two combatants, he released her bonds and stood a little stunned as she wrapped her arms about him, crying. Din-Ryka went quietly as the soldiers hustled him roughly out the door and down the stairs.

Gothag and Viktor struggled to their feet, hands and wrists locked in a death grip. Spinning one another around, they banged off the wall and into the corner; grunts and scuffling, mixed with the sound of tearing cloth punctuated the deadly ballet. The two men swung one another around again to the window and suddenly the wall gave way and with a crash of glass and wood frame, they both fell through the shattered opening.

Kress screamed and ran to the window while Marc dove for the stairs, bounding down and out into the street. Gothag lay in a crumpled heap on the road, Viktor's dagger stuck firmly in his arm. Marc ran to the fallen soldier and as he did, looked up to see a pair of legs dangling from the shredded awning. Viktor's head was wedged between a pair of steel rod supports and his arms tangled in ribbons of ripped awning. Marc watched him, transfixed, as his eyes changed from fury to surrender then, with a final gurgle of breath, closed.

Kress cradled her father in her arms, rocking and sobbing uncontrollably. Gothag managed a weak signal to Marc to help him to his feet and his voice cracked. "Kress. Daughter, I'm all right. Let me get up."

His soldiers and Marc assisted him to his feet and standing rather wobbly, he jerked the dagger from his arm in a curl of agony. Immediately Kress embraced him again, stemming the bleeding wound with a strip torn from her hem, and guided him gently down the road. Two of the soldiers took over helping Gothag and Kress leaned wearily into the comforting fold of Marc's arms as the weary band made for home.