“Right here,” a voice murmured. Wansing’s hand made a convulsive jerk, but he did not look up. He kept on writing.

Something small and lean and bonelessly supple, dressed in a dark jacket and leggings, came across the thick carpets of Wansing’s store and stood behind the captain. This one might be about nine or ten.

“I’ll take your check, captain,” Wansing said politely. “You must be an honest man. Besides, I want to frame it…”

“And now,” the captain heard himself say in the remote voice of one who moves through a strange dream, “I suppose we could go to the ship.”

The sky was gray and cloudy, and the streets were lightening. Goth, he noticed, didn’t resemble her sisters. She had brown hair cut short a few inches below her ears, and brown eyes with long, black lashes. Her nose was short and her chin was pointed. She made him think of some thin, carnivorous creature, like a weasel.

She looked up at him briefly, grinned and said, “Thanks!”

“What was wrong with him?” chirped the Leewit, walking backwards for a last view of Wansing’s store.

“Tough crook,” muttered Goth. The Leewit giggled.

“You premoted this just dandy, Maleen!” she stated next.

“Shut up,” said Maleen.

“All right,” said the Leewit. She glanced up at the captain’s face. “You been fighting!” she said virtuously. “Did you win?”

“Of course the captain won!” said Maleen.

“Good for you!” said the Leewit.

“What about the take-off?” Goth asked the captain. She seemed a little worried.

“Nothing to it!” the captain said stoutly, hardly bothering to wonder how she’d guessed the take-off was the one maneuver on which he and the old Venture consistently failed to cooperate.

“No,” said Goth. “I meant, when?”

“Right now,” said the captain. “They’ve already cleared us. We’ll get the sign any second.”

“Good,” said Goth. She walked off slowly down the passage towards the central section of the ship.

The take-off was pretty bad, but the Venture made it again. Half an hour later, with Porlumma dwindling safely behind them, the captain switched to automatic and climbed out of his chair. After considerable experimentation he got the electric butler adjusted to four breakfasts, hot, with coffee. It was accomplished with a great deal of advice and attempted assistance from the Leewit, rather less from Maleen, and no comment from Goth.

“Everything will be coming along in a few minutes now!” he announced. Afterwards it struck him there had been a quality of grisly prophecy about the statement.

“If you’d listen to me,” said the Leewit, “we’d have been done eating a quarter of an hour ago!” She was perspiring but triumphant — she had been right all along.

“Say, Maleen,” she said suddenly, “you premoting again?”

Premoting? The captain looked at Maleen. She seemed pale and troubled.

“Spacesick?” he suggested. “I’ve got some pills.”

“No, she’s premoting,” the Leewit said, scowling. “What’s up, Maleen?”

“Shut up,” said Goth.

“All right,” said the Leewit. She was silent a moment and then began to wriggle. “Maybe we’d better—”

“Shut up,” said Maleen.

“It’s all ready,” said Goth.

“What’s all ready?” asked the captain.

“All right,” said the Leewit. She looked at the captain. “Nothing!” she said.

He looked at them then, and they looked at him — one set each of gray eyes, and brown, and blue. They were all sitting around the control room floor in a circle, the fifth side of which was occupied by the electric butler.

What peculiar little waifs, the captain thought. He hadn’t perhaps really realized until now just how very peculiar. They were still staring at him.

“Well, well!” he said heartily. “So Maleen ‘premotes’ and gives people stomach-aches.”

Maleen smiled dimly and smoothed back her yellow hair.

“They just thought they were getting them,” she murmured.

“Mass history,” explained the Leewit, offhandedly.

“Hysteria,” said Goth. “The Imperials get their hair up about us every so often.”

“I noticed that,” the captain nodded. “And little Leewit here — she whistles and busts things.”

“It’s the Leewit,” the Leewit said, frowning.

“Oh, I see,” said the captain. “Like the captain, eh?”

“That’s right,” said the Leewit. She smiled.

“And what does little Goth do?” the captain addressed the third witch.

Little Goth appeared pained. Maleen answered for her.

“Goth teleports mostly,” she said.

“Oh, she does?” said the captain. “I’ve heard about that trick, too,” he added lamely.

“Just small stuff really!” Goth said abruptly. She reached into the top of her jacket and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle the size of the captain’s two fists. The four ends of the cloth were knotted together. Goth undid the knot. “Like this,” she said and poured out the contents on the rug between them. There was a sound like a big bagful of marbles being spilled.

“Great Patham!” the captain swore, staring down at what was a cool quarter-million in jewel stones, or he was still a miffel-farmer.

“Good gosh,” said the Leewit, bouncing to her feet. “Maleen, we better get at it right away!”

The two blondes darted from the room. The captain hardly noticed their going. He was staring at Goth.

“Child,” he said, “don’t you realize they hang you without a trial on places like Porlumma if you’re caught with stolen goods?”

“We’re not on Porlumma,” said Goth. She looked slightly annoyed. “They’re for you. You spent money on us, didn’t you?”

“Not that kind of money,” said the captain. “If Wansing noticed… they’re Wansing’s, I suppose?”

“Sure,” said Goth. “Pulled them in just before take-off.”

“If he reported, there’ll be police ships on our tail any—”

“Goth!” Maleen shrilled.

Goth’s head came around and she rolled up on her feet in one motion. “Coming,” she shouted. “Excuse me,” she murmured to the captain. Then she, too, was out of the room.

Again the captain scarcely noticed her departure. He had rushed to the control desk with a sudden awful certainty and switched on all screens.

There they were! Two needle-nosed dark ships coming up fast from behind, and already almost in gun range! They weren’t regular police boats, the captain realized, but auxiliary craft of the Empire’s frontier fleets. He rammed the Venture’s drives full on. Immediately, red-and-black fire blossoms began to sprout in space behind him — then a finger of flame stabbed briefly past, not a hundred yards to the right of the ship.

But the communicator stayed dead. Evidently, Porlumma preferred risking the sacrifice of Wansing’s jewels to giving him and his misguided charges a chance to surrender…

He was putting the Venture through a wildly erratic and, he hoped, aim-destroying series of sideways hops and forward lunges with one hand, and trying to unlimber the turrets of the nova guns with the other, when suddenly -

No, he decided at once, there was no use trying to understand it. There were just no more Empire ships around. The screens all blurred and darkened simultaneously; and, for a short while, a darkness went flowing and coiling lazily past the Venture. Light jumped out of it at him once in a cold, ugly glare, and receded again in a twisting, unnatural fashion. The Venture’s drives seemed dead.

Then, just as suddenly, the old ship jerked, shivered, roared aggrievedly, and was hurling herself along on her own power again.

But Porlumma’s sun was no longer in evidence. Stars gleamed in the remoteness of space all about. Some of the patterns seemed familiar, but he wasn’t a good enough general navigator to be sure.