The Lost Goats, 49

"Wait--the cure is as deadly as the toxin?" Cesar echoed. "They did it twice??"

"Well, the cure is based on a synthetic replica of the toxin, so it has to work in the same way," Zander pointed out. "To be fair, I don't think this lot know why it works on us as well as them. For that matter, I don't imagine Snood set out to entra...ha..." He yawned. "Sorry. Not much sleep. To entrap Nyronds, is what I was saying."

"Have a theory about that," Cesar said. "Think formula for toxin part of original coup specification. No human ingenuity required."

"You mean Hilary meant it to work on us as well?" Zander blinked. "Yes, of course, it's typical Hilary overkill. Enslave the galaxy and the homeship as well. That boy has--I say--that boy has no self-control at all."

"No easier to find a counter-agent, though. Need to talk to this team."

"Wait a minute." Something was trying to pierce through the heavy fog of Zander's brain. "Wait...if..." He broke off. "No, it's gone."

"Not feeling any urges for--what are they?--Poppo tickets?"

"No, none at all. I've been careful. Just exhausted."

"Well, take me to these humans, and then try and get some rest. Soren's under my care now. May not mean much, but--" Cesar gestured eloquently.

**********

Dancing. Everyone was dancing around the bonfire, the Nyronds and the filthy metalworkers of Oisenfeld and the lords and ladies of Quastibulon and the werewolves and the fairies and he couldn't get through. Atop the pyre, Soren struggled frantically to loosen the ropes that secured him to the stake.

"Dance!" yelled Pervilious Snood maniacally through a bullhorn. "Dance, my pretties! Dance for the money! Dance for Me!!!"

Zander screamed up at him in impotent rage, but his voice was lost in the music. Snood--no, it was Hilary now, but he was wearing a grotesque mask with a long curved beaky nose, like they used to wear in olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as--

Zander woke up, the song effortlessly overwriting the dream and erasing it almost completely. Only the image of the mask remained, but it was enough. He raced through his ablutions, fought his way into his clothes, and disembarked from the smallship, which was once again docked on Otslag, next to Idgy Bidgy Bombo.

"Cesar!" Zander bellowed, skidding to a halt in the antechamber of Probity's lab. Cesar was conferring with Dik and Imbiss. On the bed nearby, Soren lay still, looking deathly pale in the harsh lights.

"What?"

"There must be a counter-agent. Hilary would have wanted to be immune himself. It'll be in the coup file!"

"Which, if it still exists, will be with Snood, yeah, we got that far," Galen said. "How does that help?"

"I can get it from him," Zander said. "I'll go to Ridding-Goat, alone, charm my way in, and sneak the file out from under his nose."

"You realise of course he'll be waiting for you," Probity said.

"Maybe, but since he doesn't know Soren's infected..." Zander smiled without humour. "He'll be expecting me just to be doing the job."

"I don't like it," Galen said. "If you tip our hand Snood can--"

"Are you going to try to argue me out of helping Soren?" Zander's tone was light and easy. Only the eyes said NO FURTHER.

"I'm trying to get you to see the bigger picture here. We have to take this guy down."

"And if Soren dies because you wouldn't let me--"

"He's not gonna die. This thing hasn't affected his vital functions at all."

"It could. It's incalculable, and I for one am not going to risk--"

"The peace of the entire galaxy is at stake. We haven't got time for petty heroics."

"The galaxy isn't your responsibility or mine. Soren--"

"Soren is one life," Galen said levelly. "I have no problem at all balancing that against--"

"Really?" Zander sneered. "So you've learned to balance numbers like the humans, have you? It's all right if a hundred die to save a hundred and ten?"

"It's not all right if anyone dies!" Galen shouted. "But you have to prioritise!"

"I am!" Zander shouted back. "I am prioritising the person closest to me, whom I can save right now!"

"Well, that is human," Galen snarled. "Short-sighted, selfish, arrogant--"

"QUIET?!!" Cesar shouted, flinging a table spread with shining metal scalpels and other instruments halfway across the room. "Zander," he said, pointing, "go. You're Soren's best hope. You," to Galen, "shut up. If we can't save Soren then we can't save anyone. I'll work on finding a cure here at the same time. While I'm doing that, and Zander's being heroic, you gather an army. Anyone you can bring on side. We're going to hit Ridding-Goat--non-lethally, of course--with everything we've got."

"A distraction," Imbiss said, and frowned momentarily.

"Certain death?" Dik said. "Small chance of success?" He turned away. "You're nuts."

But Galen was already running the scenarios. "All right. I can make that work. Zander, get us some help from the homeship. I have contacts in the Vigil--"

"What a surprise," Zander said with heavy sarcasm. "Try to make sure they don't arrest us."

"I'll make sure they know who's the highest priority. After that it'll be up to you."

"I'll see you on Ridding-Goat," Zander said, and stalked away without another word.

"Nyronds," Galen muttered disgustedly. "Now you know why I left."

"Ohhh yeah," An said, rolling her eyes at Probity. "We definitely do."

The Lost Goats, 50 (bells, whistles, balloons, spikes, &c.)

"Thrice-bedamned?" Zander totted up on his fingers. "I think your reckoning's a little off."

"I know all about you," Snood boasted. In person he was a lot less impressive than on screen; make-up had covered a multitude of sins. "Your friend Adhemar was most forthcoming." He lounged at ease behind a desk in an office whose decor bordered on the megalomaniacal. A life-size portrait of himself hung above the mantelpiece. (Zander had noted that though nobody burned fossil fuel these days, and few were inclined to waste wood in this way except for religious purposes, humans still liked to put fireplaces, and hence mantelpieces, in their rooms. Some even had holographic fires in them, but it was never the same.)

"Yes, he never could keep his mouth shut," Zander said, "or his nostrils for that matter. Terrible liar, too, of course, you can't believe a word he says."

"So says the Nyrond."

"Well, I should know, then, shouldn't I?" Zander snapped. "Look, Snood, you're out of your depth and you know it. Give me the coup file and I'll see what I can do about resolving this mess."

"It is too late," Snood gloated. "Already I have reached out to other star systems. Tomorrow, I shall control the sector."

"You don't even control all this planet yet."

"It will not matter. Half the population is enough to kill the other half."

Zander debated telling him about the humans-only counter-agent, and decided against it. Snood was precariously balanced on the brink of that esoteric condition technically known as "stark staring bonkers," and if tipped over it might be unable to divulge the whereabouts of the file. Let that be a pleasant surprise for him later.

"Well," he said, "you've won, then. You might as well give me the coup file. Wouldn't want it found on your body, would we?"

"Body?" Snood laughed. "There will be no-one left to find my body, no-one to read the file. Humanity is already dying!"

"There's us," Zander pointed out.

"You will starve for lack of victims, like any other carrion eater," Snood spat. "Now, what shall I do with you?"

He eased open his desk drawer, and ran his fingers caressingly across the cold metal object therein.

"Oh, I don't know," Zander said carelessly. "You could always lock me up somewhere, that's what you pathetic little tyrants usually do."

"I am sure you would contrive to escape," Snood said morosely. "And I know I cannot kill you."

"Why does everyone seem so proud of that? 'I know I can't kill you.' Well, bully for you! Top of the class!" in an instant Zander was gripping Snood's collar across the desk, while with his other hand he forced the drawer shut on the man's hand. "You're going to tell me where the coup file is, you're going to let me walk out of here unharmed and unmolested, you insignificant little do not speak insect, or I am going to show you just a little snippet of what I have gone through in the last few days and you will not like it one bit. The pain in your fingers is only the beginning. We can't take sentient life...but we can do just about anything else we please, and while torture's a bit downmarket for us, it would give me very great pleasure. The file. Now."

Wordlessly whimpering, Snood unlocked another drawer in the desk and drew out a black folder covered with angry-looking red stickers. Zander took it and released his collar.

"You do not want to detain me, do you?" he said, in the same low, dangerous tone. "Good. I'm so glad we had this little chat. I do have a feeling we'll see each other again, though. And this time...the scales will be on the other table." And while Snood was grappling with that one, Seir Gimbalthrust rearranged his hair and apparel and strolled casually out of the office and through the labyrinth of Poppo Headquarters to the exit.

"Odious little man," he said to himself. "And as for you," he added, to the file in his hand, "I have a strong feeling you're not going to make it back to the library."

Had the file been a dog in a flying helmet, it might have sniggered.

The Lost Goats, 51

(okay, so much for the stages of recovery... :))

Soren opened his eyes. They screamed protestingly inside his head, and that set up echoes all the way down his spine, but his head was clear. Cruelly so. Memories slid grindingly into place, and each one flayed a layer from his soul.

"Zan?" he croaked.

"Lie still, flower," said a voice; cool, female, accented. "You need to--"

Soren forced the rusty girders of his bones to bend and caught hold of the arm in front of him. "Where...is...Zander?" he ground out.

"Soren, stop molesting the nursing staff." He recognised the gruff voice as Cesar's. "You're recovering from a nasty case of poisoning. Zander had to get antidote formula. Not back yet."

"Why...not?"

"If you let go of my arm," the cool voice said, with a slight edge, "we'll tell you everything."

So Soren lay back and listened as An and Cesar brought him up to date.

"When we got the formula, we quickly cooked up a batch and tested it on you. We don't know what the side-effects will be yet, so sorry about that, but so far indications are good." An smiled. "You've been out for five days total."

"Five days?"

"Not been idle," Cesar said reassuringly. "Galen's been organising the investiture of Ridding-Goat. Got the Vigil more interested in this Snood chap than they are in us, don't ask me how."

"When did...Zan leave?"

"Three days ago," Cesar said.

"I think he may have thought it would take longer to secure the planet than it did," An suggested.

"So," Soren said laboriously, "you haven't heard from Zander in three days."

"No," An said. "Is that unusual?"

"Right," Soren said, raising himself painfully on one elbow, Various tubes and wires were attached to his body; he began removing them one by one.

"Oh, nonono sweetie, you can't do that," An said. Soren brushed her (gently) aside.

"Sorry," he said wearily, getting to his feet. "I'm sure you mean well and all, but the fact is the short-brained dollop has got himself in schtuck again and it's down to me to get him out. Clothes, I need clothes."

"You sure do," An breathed. "I mean, uh, sorry." Her halo, which had briefly flickered red, blazed golden again. "I'll get them."

"Not responsible for consequences," Cesar said gruffly. "Understand, though. Be careful."

"Am I cured now?"

"Far as we can tell. No trace of the muck in your system, attempts to reinfect unsuccessful. No guarantees, though. Residual effects highly possible."

"Fair enough." Soren dressed with all the agility and grace of a Tervalian muckpore beast stricken with galloping ossification. "I'll need a ship."

"Use mine," Cesar said. "Try not to bend it."

"What are you going to do?" An said.

"In order," Soren said, walking away, "find Zan; get him out; find Snood; and put a stop to him. One way or another."

The Lost Goats, 52

"You realise, of course," Zander said, "that this means war."

"Oh, surely not," cooed Definitely-Not-A-Cameo-Role Jenny, smiling lazily and covering Zander with a familiar-looking gun. Behind her on the smallship's flight deck, Pervilious Snood smirked.

"I don't suppose it would cut any ice if I told you he's a dangerous lunatic who wants to destroy the human race?"

"Every relationship is made up of give and take," Jenny said. "Yours and mine, for instance. You gave me that clever idea about getting into someone else's ship, and I'm going to take your coup files."

"And the hats?"

"Oh, never mind those. I've gone off the idea."

"Soren will be disappointed," Zander said. "If that's the word I'm groping for."

"Well, since the human race may be about to go collectively insane, I don't think there'll be much of an audience for our performances," Jenny explained. "On the other hand, as the only sane humanoids in the galaxy, we may even be able to retire."

"And leave show business? Shame on you." Zander considered. "You know it's all off, don't you? The Poppo madness is over. They found a cure."

"This is a big galaxy. We'll start again somewhere else," Snood declared.

"Or maybe try something else," Jenny added. "After all, we'll have lots of coups to choose from. And a tame Nyrond to translate and decode them for us."

Snood looked mulish, but said nothing.

"But for now," Jenny continued gaily, "you can take us back to Wuk."

"Where's your ship?"

"Taking part in the glorious liberation of Ridding-Goat, of course. As public-spirited citizens we could do no less. I admit I didn't know about your miraculous cure, but frankly I'm not overly bothered about the Poppo scheme. No--how can I put it?--style." Jenny reached up and stroked Snood's cheek. "There, there, darling. There are lots of ways of taking revenge."

"It's a dish with no food value, you know," Zander said.

"Well, a girl has to watch her figure." Jenny's finger tightened on the trigger of Snood's gun. "Lay in a course for Wuk. Now."