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himself."
    Like most Lakorians Rola spoke excellent standard. The slave markets drew an unending flow of off-world visitors, and that, plus the Lakorian fondness of things human, meant that the upper class spoke standard as fluently as Lakorian. Some even preferred it, much to the dismay of traditionalists.
    McCade turned to Rico and Phil, raised an eyebrow as if to say "I told you so," and turned back to Major Rola. He bowed deeply. Lakor had a strong feudal tradition complete with fancy titles and courtly manners.
    "Thank you, Major. We are honored. Please lead the way."
    "The way," as it turned out, involved a crawler, and the axiom "that the shortest path between two points is always a straight line."
    With their crawler leading the way, a convoy was formed and headed toward the northeast, with the cavalry following along behind.
    During the brief moments when McCade wasn't being thrown from one side of the vehicle to the other, he took time to look out the viewports and observe their surroundings. Things were much as he remembered.
    All Lakorian dwellings were built on pilings. This made them immune to the comings and goings of the water below them. Most were circular and had domed roofs. Sections of the roofs were hinged so they could be opened during rare moments of sunshine.
    All-terrain vehicles were very popular. McCade saw them all over the place. Brightly colored creations with huge balloon tires and lots of dents. Half roared this way and that, while the other half were parked, often right next to the rotting boats that they'd replaced.
    The streets were haphazard. They followed the path of least resistance most of the time, or ran along beside sections of the old canal system, now choked with garbage and weeds.
    This did not intimidate their driver however, who, true to his straight-line philosophy of navigation, splashed through all but the very deepest canals.
    In addition their route carried them down busy thoroughfares, through residential backyards, across at least one swamp and out into a large clearing.
    At its center stood a log palisade, and within that, the largest log structure McCade had ever seen. It was huge, boasting thousands of square feet, and like everything else was up on pilings. A pair of gates swung open to admit the crawler.
    "Well, here's the palace," Major Rola said proudly as the crawler jerked to a sudden halt. "Unbelievable, isn't it?'
    McCade looked out at the muddy courtyard, the domesticated animals rooting in one corner of the palisade, and nodded his agreement. "It sure is," he said dryly. "Don't the taxpayers complain?"
    "Naw," Rola replied confidently. "Why should they? The money comes from slaves, not them."
    The Lakorian's comment served to jerk McCade out of his role as tourist and remind him of his mission. Molly. Molly and the other children.
    The door hissed open to amidst some tired, soggy air. McCade stood. "Thanks for the ride, Major. Let's see the king."
    After a short walk across the muddy courtyard they passed through a large door and entered a reception area. It was huge and, outside of the muddy floor, quite spotless.
    Three guards flanked each side of the hall. They snapped to attention as a rather junior officer stepped forward.
    "The humans will surrender their weapons. The hairy thing also."
    McCade took a moment to look the Lakorian up and down. He didn't like surrendering his slug gun, especially on a slime ball like Lakor, and especially to some jumped-up clown in a fancy uniform.
    But he did want Lif's cooperation, and even the most generous monarch might resent the loss of his bodyguard and find ways to express his displeasure.
    Seeing the human's insolent gaze and correctly interpreting the lack of respect it conveyed, the officer went for the nerve lash secured to his belt. Five strokes would put the human in his place and restore the lieutenant's dignity.
    Major Rola was just opening his mouth to object when another voice was heard. "As you were,