"Because it's dangerous! You think you're only doing what people want you to do, and never stop to think you're actually calling the shots. Just because we agree with you when you ask the final question doesn't mean we agreed with you when you started-"

Suddenly Tambu laid a hand on her arm, stopping her oration.

"Heads up! We're about to have company."

Three figures were approaching their table in a beeline course that left no doubt as to their intended destination. The girl was in her late twenties, sporting close-cropped blond hair, a halter top, shorts and sandals. The dusky-complexioned boy was in his early teens, and wore a sleeveless shirt open to the waist. Loose-fitting trousers and soft ankle-high boots completed his outfit. While there was nothing uniform about their garb, there was something in their gaze which set them apart from the other denizens of the bar and bound them together into a unit.

The man in the lead was of an entirely different cut. In his middle fifties, his hair was close-cropped which, coupled with his expression, gave him the appearance of a Caucasian Buddha. Mechanic's coveralls gave his short, stocky figure the appearance of butterball fat, but there was a feline lightness to his walk.

All three wore guns on their hips.

"Mind if we join you?" the leader asked, smiling as he reached for one of the vacant chairs at the table.

"As a matter of fact, we do." Tambu smiled back, hooking the chair with his foot and drawing it out of reach. "We're waiting for someone."

For a moment, the man's eyes narrowed, but the smile never left his face.

"No matter," he shrugged. "What we have to say won't take long."

"Good," Whitey commented dryly.

This time it was the man's companions who reacted, shooting dark looks at Whitey as their muscles tensed.

The leader, however, took the jibe in stride.

"A bit of a spitfire, isn't she?" he laughed, jerking his head at her.

"You said you had some business with us?" Tambu prompted, an edge in his voice.

The man nodded, showing even more teeth. "We've heard that you've been asking around after weapons of an exceptionally powerful nature."

"Where did you hear that?" Whitey asked sharply.

"Does it matter, as long as the information is accurate?"

"What makes you think it's accurate?" Tambu countered.

"The fact that she didn't deny it." The man smiled.

"Assuming for the moment you're correct, what business is it of yours?" Tambu asked. "Are you an arms dealer?"

The man threw back his head and laughed. "Me? Blackjack? An arms peddler? Not hardly." His laughter broke off and his eyes became wary. "And now that you've gotten that information out of me, maybe you wouldn't mind answering a direct question."

"Such as?" Tambu asked.

"Such as, are you a pirate?" Blackjack replied, his eyes darting weasel-like back and forth between the seated pair.

"No, we're not. If we were, we probably wouldn't admit it openly."

"Why not? I do. Blackjack's the name, piracy's the game. Been making a good living at it for over five years now. Now that I know you're not in the business yourself, I have a proposition for you."

"And what would that be?" Whitey asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"It's a straightforward deal. You tip us as to where you're going with your next shipment, we meet you, put a few picturesque but easily repaired holes in your hull, relieve you of your cargo, and we split the profits down the middle."

"You lost me with your logic somewhere," Tambu said. "Would you mind backing up and starting over?"

Blackjack rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Look, if you're not in the business, then you're looking for big guns to protect your cargo. If you're willing to pay that much for weapons, it stands to reason what you're protecting has to be pretty valuable. Right?"

"Keep going," Tambu replied noncommittally.

"The odds of your bringing a valuable shipment through are low, at best. You can't keep something that big a secret, and every space wolf around will be waiting for you. If you put up a fight, like it looks like you're planning to do, you'll probably not only lose your cargo, but your ship as well and maybe your lives."

"And so you're going to be generous and offer us a better deal," Tambu said wryly.

"Why not? If you do it my way, neither of us lose any men, and we both come out of it richer. Everybody's happy-except the insurance company that has to cover the loss. But they've got plenty of money."

He beamed at them, obviously delighted with his own cleverness. Tambu matched him smile for smile.

"No deal," he said flatly.

Blackjack's face fell.

"Why not?" he asked in a hurt tone.

"Just because we aren't pirates doesn't mean we're stupid. What if we give you our flight plan and run out the welcome mat when you show up. What's to keep you from shooting our ship and us full of holes and keeping the whole pie instead of just half?"

Blackjack was no longer smiling.

"I'll assume you aren't willing to take my word for it..."

"Good thinking," Whitey said.

"...and instead I'll point out that it's in my own best interest to keep this relationship going as a long-term business deal. Four or five halves add up to more than two halves, if you get my meaning."

"Don't you think the insurance company would get suspicious after a while? Not to mention our customers?" Tambu asked.

"We could stagger it a bit," Blackjack explained, eager again. "Let a few shipments through and only hit the really big ones. By the time anyone figured out anything funny was going on, you'd have made enough to retire."

"It's still no deal, Blackjack. I appreciate the offer, but I still think we're better off trusting in the guns we have pointed out than in the one pointed at us."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Blackjack rumbled, his expression darkening. "If we find you out there, it will be no quarter."

"On either side," Tambu nodded. "Be sure your crew knows that before you come barreling in on us."

"It's your funeral." Blackjack turned to leave.

"Just a second, Blackjack," Tambu called. "I have one last question before you and your playmates disappear."

"What's that?" Blackjack scowled.

"What would you have done if we said we were pirates?"

"Then I would have told you to stay away from my territory. I don't take kindly to folks trying to horn in on my range."

"And where is your range?" Tambu asked innocently.

"You'll find out when you cross it. Until then, just keep looking over your shoulder."

"No harm in asking," Tambu shrugged.

The blond girl was whispering something in

Blackjack's ear. He listened intently, a smile spreading slowly across his face.

"That's a good question. Those weapons you're after cost a lot of money. Do you have it with you, or is it on your ship?"

A sudden tension filled the air as the two forces surveyed each other.

"I don't think I'll answer that," Tambu said.

"Why not? It'll save us the trouble of finding out the hard way."

"Because the person we were waiting for just showed up," Tambu smiled, meeting the pirate's eyes squarely.

"Really?" Blackjack jeered.

"Really!" Egor answered, looming behind the trio, gun in hand. "These three giving you trouble, captain?"

"Trouble?" Tambu smiled at the frozen trio. "There's no trouble here. As a matter of fact, these three were about to put their weapons here, on the table, and go have themselves a drink. Isn't that right, Blackjack?"

The pirate nodded, tight-lipped, and eased his gun from its holster, placing it carefully on the table. One by one, the other two followed suit.

Tambu pointed. "I think that table there will do, where we can see you-and do keep your hands above the table, hmmm?"