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10
Then, one night, Jory's fears seemed to come true. He heard heavy leather boots tread in the corridor. He heard the murmur of men's voices, none too pleasant, and the clink of metal objects—keys? He jumped up from his cot and, in the faint moonlight-like glow of the generator outside, ran to the ladder and up several steps, thinking maybe he could jump down on them.
The door opened, and several men stepped inside. "There he is," said a Fril holding a black gun, pointing with his free hand. There were five, two of them naked Fril, the other three wearing voluminous dark cloaks that just about reached the floor. These swept back baggy hoods to reveal Fril-like heads. All five wore the tokens of immunity—flat name tags suspended against the chest by a thin chain that ran around the neck—promising freedom from Imperial Oba search or detention as long as they stayed within the port and did not wander out somehow into dark Oba.
Jory was paralyzed with fear. He could almost feel the Obayyo cops' heavy wooden tablets around his neck, with the legend "Runaway—Sentence Is Death" carved on them.
"Are you Jory O'Call?" asked one of the three in cloaks.
Jory climbed up another rung and did not answer.
"We won't hurt you," said another. "You are the reason we are here."
"We?" Jory asked. "Where's Girex? Giru?"
"Look, friend, we don't have time..." The leader swept off his imitation Fril hood, revealing a human, a young adult with short brown hair and pale skin. The other two cloaked men pulled their disguises off. One was dark and had short, kinky black hair—Jory had seen a few like him around other villages, not his own. The third was of medium color, with slanted eyes and short black hair cut in such a fashion that it stood straight up. They looked strong and well-fed—no slaves, these, ever, from their self-confident demeanor. "I'm Jerzy." Jerzy introduced the black one as Hans, and the hair-up as Don.
Jerzy said: "Come on down; we've got to get you out of here."
At the sight of his fellow humans, Jory bounded down and shook their hands. They whisked a cloak and a Fril mask over him, threw the hood over his head, and hurried him into the dark halls. Guns drawn and shielding him on three sides, they moved in a mass.
"Where are Girex and Giru?" Jory asked.
"Ah, those scum..." Don said.
"Look briefly," Jerzy said, pointing into a room from which yellow light fell.
Hans said: "They were well-paid, all right. A little too well."
Jory looked inside, heart beating in horror, and saw his hosts. Girex was sprawled in one corner, white powder strewn over his head and brightening his hands. Giru lay on her back, sprawled and staring emptily at the ceiling. She too had streaks of powder all over. "Are they—?"
"Dead. Yes," Jerzy said. "They were drug addicts. That's how the local goons paid them to take care of you. Paid them with so much of that stuff that they overdosed until their hearts stopped. They must have been crawling on the floor throwing it in the air in their last moments."
Jory could think of at least twelve drugs it could be, all made in Oba by the babas, capable of addicting half a galaxy.
"Maybe someone wanted them out of the way," Don ventured.
"Naw," said one of the Fril, "too valuable. Must be suicide. Too much overdose. Kill. Stupid ones. Find other, but these trustworthy."
Jerzy pushed on. "We weren't planning to pull you out so soon, but the Dora Mora is in orbit, and several of her boats have set down. With these two gone, it's only a matter of hours before the cops start poking around. They are required to file a report with the other side. Come along, the ship's master is eager to pick you up."
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