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    "No, Gronk. He did fine." He did fine and now the trail was stone-cold dead.
    A cluster of sheds, pre-fabs and shanties could be seen ahead. The town of Black Rock, if you could call it a town, no better than it ought to be. Few of the buildings made it above two storeys. Space was not at a premium on a desert world like Vaara, so people just tended to build outwards. The sheriff's office comprised several bungalows built one next to the other, joined by suspect attachments of corrugated iron, plywood and other bodges.
    Nobody was home.
    Heaving a deep sigh, Johnny got back into his jeep as Wulf was pulling up.
    "We could wait here," suggested the viking.
    "Yeah," said Johnny, starting the engine. "We could do that."
     
    Drinking started early in Black Rock. There wasn't a whole lot else to do. The forty-hour days played havoc with human biorhythms. Some people held to the twenty-four-hour clock and slept with the blinds down when they had to. Others threw themselves into the local cycle and tended to burn out.
    Sheriff Steinman was one of the former. He clung to the time zone of his father, and his father before him, all the way back to Earth, where apparently, right now, it was four o'clock in the afternoon, and not just past noon at all. Somewhere on Earth, the sun was above the yard-arm, and it was time for a drink.
    Sheriff Steinman did his part for the local economy by cracking open a beer. He liked to do it at Daphne's Bar because there was a floor show on Wednesdays and he liked to watch the girls.
    There was a time when Daphne's had six dance tracks. After an accident a couple of months ago, they were down to five. One was a slow number that only got an airing before closing time, like a national anthem for gropers. That left four, and much as everyone hated them, just two tended to stay on a loop. Most of the time it was "Mutie Cutie" by Split Dog. For the first time in weeks, someone put something different on the decks, and it was a thumping old track from Earth; a remix of "Umpty Got Some Sugar" by Chill Bill and the Passion Pilgrim.
    Someone was making a statement, and much as he disliked what he heard, Steinman liked what he saw. The new dancer was giving it all she had. Nice legs, thought Steinman, admiring the mutie girl gyrating in front of him. Shame about the face, though. Still, a paper bag was often a necessary accessory to bedtime bliss on Vaara. Steinman rifled through his mental inventory of favours owed and kickbacks yet to come. He was pretty sure that the owner of Daphne's Bar owed him something. He tried to think if there was anything in town that was a better bet than the new dancer but he was having trouble thinking straight. He watched as she peeled off a grubby sweater and realised that he had just forgotten what he was thinking about. Steinman stared hungrily at the girl as she began to unhook her bra, and remembered better days.
    Suddenly, she stopped dancing. The music kept on going, but it seemed empty without her gyrating movements. The dancer folded her arms across her chest, suddenly shy. She was staring past Steinman's shoulder at the entrance to the bar.
    The double doors of the entrance flapped noisily back and forth. A pair of booted feet advanced through the bar. Steinman heard someone even larger come through the doors, a giant of a man, followed by the pitter-patter of tiny feet. With a thunk, the lower edge of one of the swing doors slammed into an alien head. Only a Gronk would be that stupid. And if it was walking free, reasoned Steinman, that meant...
    Over by the bar, someone killed the music. Steinman breathed deeply and wondered if he could have this meeting without lifting his feet from the edge of the stage. He was kind of settled in and he could do without the hassle.
    "Johnny Alpha, I presume," said Steinman with a sniff.
    "Disappointed?" said Johnny, blocking Steinman's view of the interrupted dancer.
    "Unsurprised," said Steinman. "What have you got for me,