There were worlds, each different than the last world, but they were few and very far between.  Those were the conditions of life in the outer worlds of space.

     Dag Canute had traveled far to the world of Argentium, one of the few planets that was still independent of the United Federation of Outer Space (CISP).  This organization spread out for a million miles or light years in space.  Each federation of space was sectioned off into a quadroon of a million light years each.  Although the CISP program existed, it had mainly been kept underground in the prison ordered relief program.

     Dag Canute was a veteran of these programs, one too many times.  This had been the only thing in his life that was an insured and infallible part of it.  Where would he go this time?   It was something he had wondered many times before.  His options were few, so he and fellow-convicts flew in the confines of their pre-set coordinates CI-SIP-CJ unit space craft.  In between such million light year quadrants existed these present and lifeless worlds, so finite and desolate in these sections of a vast and often vacant universe strewn with galaxies.

     Dag sat strapped in his flight seat at the helm of the old CISP-CJ Unit 109 Spacecraft.  There were six fellow convicts along with him, who occupied the cramped passenger quarters of the spacecraft.  It was the first flight in years that he'd boarded and yet at the beginning there was sadness and happiness mixed together.  On the slow voyages at times this eased off.  His fellow convict passengers passed the time sometimes rather noisily and raucously as they conversed.  Dag's mind was concentrated on getting to Argentium.  He was a powerhouse of concentration and at this point nothing could get through his state of mind.  Lost in his concentration, he seemed drained, so self-absorbed.  Looking out from the helm he saw the outer arms of a spiral galaxy unfolding, as if to embrace his spacecraft.  He moved closer day by day, but this unfolding and unwinding spiral seemed like it was not any closer at all.

     Time dragged by as Dag Canute sat at the helm of his spacecraft, hanging there outside of a disappearing spiral galaxy as sudden forces of gravity seemed to watch and whisk him away, with an occasional remnant of the spiral's meteoric members.  An explosion and burst of energy happened periodically as kinetic energy forces ignited this post-inteplanetary war of cosmic implosions and explosions.  Like a burst of monochromatic fireworks, asteroids hung suspended in gaseous vapors illuminated by their reflective glow in the aftermath.

     Dag was entranced by his concentrative watchfulness, which seemed to be slipping, as he watched the helm for his almost thirty-six hours of duty.  He chose to be first watch because he had not seen spaceflight time since his incarceration on Bjinium.  He had been there almost a decade this time and he vowed it would certainly be his last time spent sequestered to an Offworld Interplanetary Corrections Unit Facility (OWIPCUF).  He was gradually becoming familiar once again, even though he was lost sometimes at the spacecraft's flight panel controls.  He was coming to terms with the frustrations that taunted him in his years of deprivation.  His second incarceration had been harder.

     Nine years of down time in OWIPCUF left him with a long time to think alone.  Time to think about what he had done to others and what it was doing to him mostly.  Most of his encounters at OWIPCUF on Bjinium were not remorseful and they were always ill-fated, to live out the rest of their lives on Bjinium in their Pulsar District of the Seyfert Galaxy NGC 4151.  His encounters were with the other convicts who were sent there to be kept to a maximum security prison facility.  The prison was running agrarian stations on Bjinium.  Labor was most of the time mandatory labor which was required to run this interplanetary commerce machine, which over centuries had been a plus for OWIPCUF and their assigned wardens of the system.

     The Agrarian Stations kept the convicts fed and oiled the wheels of outer space colonies, where a bad turn was turned into something good and purposeful.  It did not always turn out as such at OWIPCUF.

     Dag had plenty of time to reflect, this time on his experiences at OWIPCUF.  He pressed the recline button lever to push the seat back so he could sleep at the helm's flight console.  He gave the flight seat a slightly firm push back.  Suddenly there was a heave and a rocky tilt.  He quickly got up and grabbed the flight seat to pick it up.

     He abruptly gave rise to a comment.  “This is some good equipment they gave us?  Some generosity of OWIPCUF.”

     “What do you expect for such generosity, the latest make and model spacecraft?” asked a fellow convict parolee who rose up and walked over to him.  He was a stout man and he stood over the spacecraft's helm console to look out.  “Perhaps your expectations of OWIPCUF are too high, HA! HA!”  He laughed, his full face showing a pinkish glow.

     Dag looked up at his stout-bodied fellow parolee and one of his other flight companions.  “Well, I don't know what I really expected from all of this,” he said.

     “It's overwhelming, such a magnificent condition, isn't it?” asked the stout man.

     “Yes, it is,” Dag replied.  “It is even more amazing we have left Bjinium.”

     “It's a fine spacecraft, it just needs a lot of work, that's all.”

     “Yes, it could use a lot of work.”

     “My name is Jurgen.  Our fellow lady companions couldn't help noticing the way you were looking at them.”

     “Yes, it's been a long time for me.”

     “It's been a long time for all of us.  We hardly know how to act civilized.”

     “Civilized?  Who's worried about acting civilized?”

     “Good point,” Jurgen said.  “All we need is to land on a civilized planet.”

     “There aren't many civilized planets to choose from, if you've noticed?”

     “So there isn't.”

     “Do you have any idea where we are headed?”

     Jurgen looked puzzled.  “No,” he replied.  “Did you check the flight panel for flight plans?”

     “All the computer had is pre-set coordinates.  It doesn't say where.”

     “Have you been able to make contact with anyone out there?”

     “There hasn't been any contact since we launched from Bjinium,” Dag said.

     “I'll give it a try.  It has been twenty years since I have been a pilot.  I was once a good pilot myself.  A baby never had it so easy.”

     “By all means, together we can figure this out.”

     Jurgen took his place at the helm of the flight panel in the rickety seat that had been put back in place.  Dag sat down in the co-pilot's seat beside him. Jurgen looked at the flight panel controls and the data-base computer screen.  The screen was up and blue functional.  The words waiting commands now flashed for a command response.  Jurgen sat looking sublimely puzzled, but not yet willing to give up as he studied the computer keyboard with the usual beginner's degree of perplexity.  Even Jurgen was really a beginner as he reached down to punch in an activation code on the flight panel's keyboard.

     Twenty years in the OWIPCUF had made Jurgen forget what he knew, as he sat there, sometimes perplexed.  His memory started coming back on how to operate key functions and key in commands.  This was turning into re-education time in basic functions.

     “It's all starting to come back to me now.  I'm not sure yet what I'm doing, but maybe it will set us on the right course.”

     “This whole trip has been unsettling.  Not even time for any adjustments,” said Dag.

     “OWIPCUF is in a hurry to get rid of parolees.  I wonder why?” 

     Jurgen openly pondered the question, waiting for Dag to jump in on his expository statement.  Dag leaned with both hands resting on the flight console as he watched Jurgen manipulate the keyboard.  He was hoping maybe to pick up any recollections of memory.

     On Bjinium the computers were under tight security and few people were allowed to use them after they made it past the voice and hand print locks.  Dag watched with intensity and kept silent for a while.

     The computer screen flared back bright green and black.  The computer terminal screen had not changed its function commands until Jurgen punched a key and a screen appeared with a window and there was a menu with several different levels of entry data on the screen.

     Dag leaned down toward the computer screen and pointed at the menu, guiding his finger down it. 

     “Let's try this little number, Jurgen,” he said as he clicked the mouse on the menu.  He reached over to the keyboard and punched the command into the keyboard.  He entered part of a computer program he remembered from his day on Bjinium's OJPT program.  He'd watched many times as guards programmed commands into the security control computers that allowed prisoners to be transported from one part of the facility to another.  He had always stood handcuffed watching everything that was done.  He was totally bored by his lengthy incarceration and every opportunity to learn was important.

     “Let's see, I can try these commands,” said Dag as he punched in the random consonants and symbols.  Then he punched the program keys.

     “AH!  It worked,” said Jurgen as he looked amazed at the flight panel computer screen.  He looked at the computer more closely as a file of information started fo fill up the screen. 

     “It's something I remembered from the Bjinium OJPT program,” Dag said.

     He studied closely the list of file names on the screen.  There were ten file names listed on the menu selection number three, which brought up randomly informational list names of categorical OWIPCUF-OJPT classified FILES.  Dag zoned in on the files and scanned with his eyes going up and down, trying to find a key clue as to what he was looking for in the files.  He was determined to find something, so he continued to stare at the screen that refused to yield its secrets.  He tried punching in a new command and a different function, keying in what he knew or thought he knew would work.

     Nothing changed on the screen.  Dag decided to try another approach.  He opened the CD-ROM compartment, then opened the hard disk drive.

     There was template in the hard disk drive.  There was nothing in the CD-RPOM, so he closed the player.

     They were essentially dead ducks in the water, just floating there in outer space.

     Dag got the computer fumbled back online.   He was working by auxiliary at computer lights not controlled by the spaceship's main computer.  Without the gyros and compasses working properly the spaceship would begin to  tumble, just as any ship at sea that became top-heavy.  He searched for a boot disk hidden in a storage panel along the transport panel wall. 

     “Well, thanks to the mothers of invention bootleggers, I found copies of the disc,” he said.

     “Who are you talking to, Dag?” asked Jurgen.

     “The gods of technology, if you like!” replied Dag.  “There was a bootlegger on this CJPT spaceship, believe it or not.”

     He found what he was looking for concealed in the storage panel.   He had to work quickly.  The gyros and compasses would be going into a wild spin.  The CJPT spaceship would be falling into a descent.

     Dag worked by dim lights, the residual glow of the auxiliary and computer lights on the flight panel.  He had Jurgen holding a flashlight.

     The electronics worked off auxiliary power, independent of the main computer drive.  Dag would have taken the power down if it was a bad disk.  That meant wiping the drive completely.  It would be starting over, essentially.  Of course, that would be done when the bad disk was replaced.  He would have to rig the compoents together.  He had the tool box hauled out, and the spare parts.  The new parts were unopened and in their pristine condition.

     “This guy likes to keep plenty of spare parts,” said Dag.

     “Is that good?” asked Plutinia, one of the female prisoners.

     “Why, yes, it's good!” replied Dag.  “We're fortunate!”

     She fingered the nape of his neck, which was disconcerting to him.  “Plutinia, please!   For the love of God and your children!  Stop!  Go have a seat,” he demanded.

     “Plutinia, be a good girl—go keep an eye on the other girls,” said Jurgen.  “He's working here.”

     “I just wanted to help.”

     “You can help by doing like I asked,” said Jurgen.  “Thjs is not the time and place for it.  What can you do?”

     “Well, I was a botanist on Bjinium,” she said.  “I was just hitching a ride with the CI SP-CJ 109 guy, exploring the rare plants by the penal colony.”  She walked off to the passenger section of the spaceship where she took a seat again.

     Dag worked steadily on the computer.  In a matter of less than three hours he had everything re-installed.  They were back online. 

     They were sailing away into outer space.  It was smooth sailing from here on out.

     “Well, I'm hungry.  Let's check out the galley,” said Dag.

     “You go.  I'll man the helm,” said Jurgen.

     “All right, then,” said Dag.  He left out of there, then he backtracked for a moment and came back to the helm.  “Computer, where is the galley?”

     “Third deck,” was the monotone reply of the automated machine.

     Plutinia grabbed her knapsack.  She was following Dag, hot on his heels.  He turned around and asked her point blank, “Are you following me?”

     “Yes, I guess so.  I'm hungry too.”

     “Get in the elevator then.”

     They rode to the third deck, the kitchen galley, arriving shortly. 

     “Since you know where everything is, why don't you show me?” asked Dag.

     “Why don't you ask the cook?  He's right over there.”

     “The cook is still here?”

     “No spaceship is complete without food,” said Plutinia.

     The cook was sitting down at a table.  “You're the cook?” asked Dag.

     “Why, yes, what's it to you?  Who wants to know?”

     “I am interested in a good meal.”

     “You're talking to the man.  I have some potluck stew, made yesterday.  Some rare beef.  We don't see fresh  meat often, traveling in space, kind of spoils your appetite, doesn't it?”

     “Bring it on, man; bring it on, then,” said Dag.

     The cook got them some stew.  He placed it on the table in front of Dag and Plutinia.  They ate away.  “Where's your boyfriend, Plutinia?” asked the cook.

     “Well, Stewie, he's got left behind.  You're with us now,” she said.

     The engineer came up for a break to the kitchen galley.

     The odds were changing.  The engineer looked on.  “Water, Stewie!” he said.

     “Okay!”  He got the water.  They were at an impasse, it seemed.

     “So what are you two looking at?” asked Dag.

     “We're looking at the two of you.  Such an odd couple.  And what are you looking at?”

     “You and the other odd couple behind that proposition,” said Dag.

     Plutinia smiled glibly at them.

     “You're not a grammar school teacher, are you?!” exclaimed the engineer.  “Did you take this ship's computer offline?  Are you the one?”

     “Yes, I did.  Someone had to do it.  It was necessary for repairs.”

     “What repairs are you talking about?  This spaceship is working fine.  And who are you?” said the engineer as he pointed at Dag sitting at the table.

     “I am your teacher.  My name is Dag.  You can be peaceful about this. The two of you can be, or we can discuss this on my terms,” said Dag.  “Which will it be?”

     “Well, if we're peaceful, how can we learn?” asked the engineer.

     “First of all, my name is Dag and this is Plutinia.  It's your turn.”

     “I'm the engineer, Pers Rumford.  You're not a member of the crew, are you?”

     “I'll ask the questions.”

     “I'm Stewart, as you might guess?”

     “Sure.  Where is the rest of the crew, Stew?”

     “They're on leave from the spaceship while we're docked,” said Rumford.

     “We're not docked any more.  That's odd,” said Dag.  “OH! Hey, festivities are on the main deck by the way.  A dozen parolees and a dozen camptown ladies are in tow from Argentium where I ended up a few years ago in the CISP prison system.   Come up on deck.  This ship will run just fine now.”

     Rumford had listened for half of his adult life to the heart of the spacecraft propulsion engines.  He was handy with machines.  He knew the heartbeat of these machines, that they could leap into hyperdrive like a Thyristor flash could dispel shadow as it lighted up the night sky in a sense, but on a grander scale.  Piers had been sucked into that great heart of a metal machine like he had been sucked on by a vampire.  The humming of man's perfection in aeronautic engineering feats was like a lullaby.  It soothed his soul and fueled his thoughts.  “Let's go, then, to this party that's waiting on the upper deck,” he said.

     “WAIT! STOP!” insisted Stewie.  “It could be dangerous.”

     “It's either blow up with the propulsion engines or take my chances with felons.  Neither is good, Stewie,” said Piers.  “Come on, Stewie, let's go!”

     Stewie was doubtful and had trepidations about going to the upper deck.  He had been warned by the commander not to come up, unless it was important or he was on shore leave.

     “Come on, Plutinia, grab your sack and let's go up.  Are you guys coming or not?” implored Dag as he inquired, “What's the worst that could happen, guys?”

     Piers stood there for a moment and then stepped up a couple of feet.  He turned, looking back at Stew.  “Coming?” was all he said, then he thought of something else.  “You're a cook, not a prisoner, Stewie.”

     “Yes, you're right!”  He rambled up behind them, joining in this threesome, now a foursome, on the upper deck, to join the more some waiting there.  They entered the elevator and rode the lift up.  Soon they were in the command center.  Jurgen was up there at the helm holding at bay the other eleven men and eleven women who were on board.

     “Well, Jurgen!  Any problems so far with the gang?” asked Dag.

     “No, some have gone off in search of sleeping quarters,” replied Jurgen.

     “Well, good luck getting in, is all I have to say,” piped up Rumsford. “The commanders' quarters are by handprint identification only.  Now the barracks are open.”

     “Let's not worry about them now,” said Dag.

     “Where are we headed?” asked Stewie, out of concern.

     Dag took over the helm.  He sat beside Jurgen.  “Computer, set course for Argentium,” he said.

     Cannot comply.  Voice recognition.  Unable to identify, said the computer.

     “Computer, erase old commander's voice print.  Record new voice print!” ordered Dag.  “Bypass system!”

     Over-ride unauthorized, replied the computer.  Recognition failed.

     Piers was standing by as Dag tried to command the helm.  “PIERS!  I need your help!” said Dag loudly.

     “I'm right here.  You don't have to yell,” said Piers.  “Look at the screen in front of you.  It's asking for your I.D.”

     “That's a start.”  Dag brightened up a bit.

     Piers was figuring out what to do next.

     “You're the engineer.  You can help me fix this?” asked Dag.  “Now how do I get in?”

     “Computer over-ride and record new data,” Rumford commanded.  “Type in your name, Dag.”

     Dag started typing and hit the submit button.  They waited for a response.  The computer spoke.  Please re-enter your name and rank.

     “OH!  RANK!?  We need a rank.  Lieutenant Commander.  Type that in and a password,” said Piers.

     “Yes, I'm a little rusty with this.  What's that old Earth expression?  It's like riding a bike, whatever that is.  Supposedly you never forget.”  Dag typed in his name again with a rank and then he created a password, Bikes888.  Then he clicked submit again.  His was unique the third time he made it through this.  The computer screen read:

SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED

     “Well done!” said Dag.

     “You did not need me,” said Piers.  “Log on then let's get this spaceship going.”  Then he added, “OH YEAH!  One more thing, you need to record a voice print and hand print, then you're done.”

     Dag entered in his name and rank and password again.  The computer came on.  Please record voice print data into microphone.  Dag picked up the microphone and spoke into it.  “Lieutenant Commander Dag Canute speaking.”  The computer analyzed voice sound bytes.  “Welcome Lieutenant Commander Dag Canute,” it said.

     “Set coordinates for Argentium,” Dag commanded.

     “Argentium is a refuge/trading post/prison colony for nefarious criminal-minded people.  Are you sure you want to go there, Lieutenant Commander Canute?  The odds of survival are one in 2.5 million.”

     “Yes, I'm sure!  Set coordinates for Argentium.”

     “Very well, I will.  Setting coordinates now for Argentium.  By the way, I have a name.  It's Loralei.”

     “Sorry, Loralei.”

     “Apology accepted, Lieutenant Commander Canute.”

     “Loralei, call me Dag from now on,” asked Dag.

     “Okay Lieutenant Commander Canute, sorry Dag, I mean Dag,” said Loralei.

     “Where's Jurgen the guy, find him!” demanded Dag.

     “I' m right here, Dag!” said Jurgen.

     “OH YES!  You are!” said Dag, in a semi-psychotic daze.

     “What is it you want, Dag?” asked Jurgen.

     “We're going to create a name and password for you and Plutinia.  You are next,” said Dag.  “We have to bypass this system or we are all in trouble.”

     Meanwhile below deck on the space crew deck of the living quarters in the barracks, the felonious crew of six men and six women were reveling in each other's arms.  Loralei's roving eyes were all over the ship.  She spied in the barracks upon the men and women, her internal ears tuned in.  She turned volume up higher as she conferred within herself.  She sealed off the quarters and cut the lights.  The auxiliary lights came on.

     “HEY, WHAT'S GOING ON!?” yelled one of the felons.

     They started coughing as a vapor filled the quarters.  Loralei had determined how much knockout gas to give them.  She was part battleship and part prison ship as well.  The alarm sounded.  LOCKDOWN IN THE BARRACKS!  LOCKDOWN IN THE BARRACKS HAS COMMENCED!  Announced Loralei.  PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

     “WHAT THE…..!?” said Dag.  “Loralei, what's going on?”

     All he heard was silence now.  The cook and Rumford stood by watching things unfold on board the Loralei.  Plutinia stood behind them cringing.  “NOW WHAT, DAG?!” asked Jurgen.  “What do we do now?!”

     “First of all I need to know what's going on,” said Dag.  “Lorelei, answer me!  What do you mean lockdown has commenced?”

     There was still silence.

     “Loralei, one more time I am going to ask you, what do you mean lockdown has commenced!?”

     “Unidentified persons on board, likely intruders on premises,” said Loralei.

     “Loralei, that's my crew,” said Dag emphatically.  “How can you do this to my crew?”

     “Visuals unable to identify unknown persons,” replied Loralei.  “Voice data was analyzed.  Unable to find any of the intruders on record.”

     “I'm on my way down, Loralei,” said Dag as he got out of his seat.  “Piers, Plutinia, come with me,” said Dag.  “Stewie, you and Jurgen stay here.  You might have to cook something up.”

     Dag and Piers and Plutinia made their way to the lift.  Soon they were on their way to the third deck of the living quarters.

     “What are we going to do when we get there, Dag?” asked Plutinia.

     “That's a good question, Dag, what are we going to do?” asked Piers also.

     “Negotiate, negotiate, negotiate,” replied Dag.  “Then negotiate some more.”

     “It's a machine, Dag,” said Piers.

     They arrived on the lift on the third deck living quarters.  Everybody stepped off the lift.  Then they walked down the corridors.

     “Where's the barracks, Piers?  Show me!” said Dag.

     “This way.  Follow me!” said Piers.

     Off down the corridors they hurried.  The red warning sign flashed outside of the barracks doors.  “We need to disengage the lock!” said Dag.

     “Try your hand and voice print over-ride,” said Piers.

     “Okay, initializing hand and voice print over-ride,” said Dag.

     “Loralie, open the door!” said Dag as he put the palm of his hand on the door lock to open the door.

     So far nothing yet from Loralei.

     “Loralei, come on, open the door!” demanded Dag.

     “Analyzing requests,” said Loralei.

     Dag was having issues with Loralie.  She was unyielding at worst.  He said, “Piers, can you manually over-ride the barracks door, if Loralei doesn't co-operate?”

     “Yes, it can be done.”

     “One more time, Loralei, open the door!” pleaded Dag.

     Loralei was silent again.

     “Talk to me, Loralei, I need to know what you're doing!”

     No response.

     “Piers, do it, I can take Loralei no longer.  Put the ship in manual over-ride.”

     Piers grabbed a handy screwdriver from his tool belt.  He started to unscrew the control panel to the barracks doors.

     “Why?” asked Loralei.

     “Because they're my crew, Loralei!”

     “No, why are you doing this?”

     “Loralei, co-operate, don't make me,” said Dag.

     “Don't make me what?  You didn't finish your sentence.”

     “Don't make me use force, Loralei!”

     “Is that a threat, Dag, coming from you?”

     “A triple threat.  Take it any way you like, Loralei, but open the barracks doors.”

     Piers worked on the control panel to over-ride the space ship's main computer's automatic door locks.  No reply from Loralei.  Dag fumed silently as he stood there in front of the barracks doors.

     “Dag, let me try,” said Plutinia.  She stepped over to assist.  She put her hand on the hand-print identification pad.  “Loralei, why don't you open the doors?” she asked.  There was silence from Loralei.  “Loralei, answer me!”

     “What doors do you want open, Plutinia?” asked Loralei.   “There are one hundred doors on my spaceship.”

     Loralei opened the doors on the opposite sides and the surrounding doors.

     “Loralei, open the damn doors!” said Plutinia.

     Piers and Dag looked on as Loralei opened up the doors and shut them once again, over and over.  “What doors, Plutinia?  Tell me,” she said.

     Dag stood there pondering the situation.  Loralei was a temperamental spaceship.  “Haven't you over-ridden the doors yet, Piers?  Get back to it,” he said.

     “As soon as she is back to normal,” said Piers.  “This is not like Loralei at all.”

     “Plutinia, better ask again.  To please open the barracks doors.”

     “Loralei, open the doors, please!?” asked Plutinia.

     “You did not answer my question, Plutinia.”

     “OH!  What?” said Plutinia.

     “The barracks doors,” said Dag in a low voice as he nudged Plutinia's left elbow.

     “Please open the barracks doors!?” asked Plutinia again.

     “As you wish,” said Loralei, relenting at last her steel clutches.  She opened the barracks doors.

     Dag was cautious at first, not trusting in Loralei.  He, Piers and Plutinia paused outside the doors.  The life system was on a separate unit from the space ship's main computer.  Loralei had gone haywire.  Why?  Dag had to find out.  “Piers, stay here.  Work on the over-ride,” he said.

     Loralei had conceded at last.  Dag insisted that Piers still do the over-ride out of concern for the safety of his newly-formed rag-tag crew.  He and Plutinia entered now into the barracks.

     “LIGHTS, LORALEI!” said Plutinia.

     The lights came on and air circulated.  Loralei had ventilated the barracks.  Dag and Plutinia walked around.  They went from bed to bed.  They found the men passed out in the barracks bunk beds.

     Dag went to a man lying in a bunk bed.  One of the concubines lay passed out over him.  He lifted the eyelids to check his pupils and gave him a shake.  “Hey!   Wake up, sleepy head!” he said.

     The man moaned and mumbled something half discernable. 

     “Hello!” Plutinia said.  She was on the other side as she approached a bunk-bed with two men passed out.  She gave the man a shake on the shoulder.  “HEY!  WAKE UP!” she said.  Then she shook the other man below the shoulder.

     “HEY WAKE UP!” said Dag as he went and shook the other two men and two women in the bunk-beds in the middle of the barracks.  He and Plutinia continued to revive the rest of the rag-tag crew.  They helped them out of the barracks.

     Piers had the over-ride by this time.  The doors would stay open.  In effect, it worked like a door jamb.  Dag and Plutinia got all the men and women out while Piers assisted them too.

     “What happened?” asked one of the male parolees.

     “Loralei gave you the gas,” said Dag.

     “Who's Loralei?  I don't remember her.  I'm Athelbert.  I did not get to tell you my name earlier.  So this Loralei has gas?”

     “Loralei is the spaceship we're on.  She has a knockout gas,” said Dag.  “She has issues also.”

     “What did she want to do that for?”

     “It's a defense mechanism.  Loralei suspected some rogues on board.  I'll take care of this.  You'll be legitimate crew after this.”

     Afterwards he assimilated his rag-tag crew.  He created names, passwords and backgrounds for them.

     One month later in the Orin's Belt Sector they arrived with problems aboard Loralei resolved.  They were in orbiting range of Argentium, which is an autonomous planet.  They received a signal from Argentium.

     “Dag, we're being hailed from the surface!” said Jurgen.  “Should I respond?”

     “Yes.  Be careful!” said Dag.

     “Greeting Argentium from the Aurora Dawn!” said Jurgen.

     “Greetings!  You have entered Argentium's orbit.  What is your business here with us?” inquired the Argentium official.

     Dag spoke up.  “We're refugees, Ambassador!” stated Dag.  “We ask for refuge on your planet.  May we land?”

     “There are many refugees here already.  They are not all hospitable.  Consider yourself warned!” said the Ambassador.

     “Very well, we are warned!” said Dag.

     “You are obliged to land,” said the ambassador.

     Dag hastily put together his crew.  They had a 24-hour cycle, before their arrival on Argentium's surface.  They arrived in their spaceport a day later and were greeted upon their arrival.

     “Commander Canute, the Ambassador sent his guards to escort you,” said the Commander.  “I am Commander Thornhill.  Follow me so you don't get lost in the city.”

     “You mean stray?  We're explorers.”

     “Commander Canute, you have a prison ship.  That hardly leaves you time to explore,” said Commander Thornhill.

     “It was supposed to be de-commissioned.  We had a choice.  We could take it or leave it, as part of our parole.  It's junk class now.”

     “Save your explanation for the ambassador Duron and the court,” said Thornhill.

     “Now what, Dag?” asked Plutinia.

     “Don't say a word, Plutinia,” said Dag.

     They continued walking until they reached the transport, the Super “G” Mass Transit Train.

     “You first and the lady, Commander Canute,” said Commander Thornhill.

     Six of Dag's men followed.

     “We're not going back to Bjinium.  That's why we came here to Argentium, the rebel planet, so named for its silver mines here,” explained Dag.

     “Right! Right this way, then.  Follow me to the train depot station,” said Thornhill.  “Climb aboard,” he said.  Dag started to do so.  “UH! NO! Ladies first!” the commander said to Dag as he extended his right hand out to Plutinia.  She in turn put her hand in his right hand.  “You are real women?” he asked.

     “Why, 100%,” she said as she stepped from the platform onto the train.

     Thornhill climbed up, following Canute and his men.  They were followed by Thornhill's men.  As they joined him on the train everybody sat down.  The train took off.  The speed was increasing steadily.  The super “G” moved fast and smooth as a silk stocking over a store mannequin's leg.

     Their arrival at the capitol was swift.  Soon they were put into another transport.  A little later they arrived at the capitol and were escorted to the meeting room to meet with Duron.  He stood in front of a huge glass window overlooking the great city, which the capitol building imposed itself upon.  Ambassador Duron  and his cronies waited, but they didn't need to any longer.  Commander Thornhill presented him with the visitors from Bjinium.  He said, “Ambassador Duron, may I present the strangers who hailed us from outer space?”

     “Yes!  Yes!  Commander Thornhill, you may stand down.  I'll take it from here,” said Duron.

     “I'll be waiting outside.  Call me if you need help,” Thornhill said, taking his men with him.

     “Well, well, Commander Canute, what brings you here to my home planet?” he asked.

     “Well, my men are for hire, if you need mercenaries.”

     “Nonsense!  Commander Canute, you said you needed refuge.  Which is it?  Refuge, or mercenaries?  I ask you again.”

     “Well, we need a home base and you have what I need and I have what you need,” said Dag.

     “I see it some of both.  I have an army, Commander Canute.  I can't accept your proposal.  But I can give  you a place to stay in the meantime.   It's up to the courts to decide.”

     “Courts!?” said Dag.

 

     They were having their morning meal with Ambassador Duron, a few days later, at the long table.

     “Why are you so courteous to us strangers?” asked Dag.

     “Diplomacy calls for courtesy, Commander Canute.  I see you're not one that's used to diplomacy.”

     “I do things the hard way, before I learn the easy way.”

     “You've got a hard row to hoe in front of you, Commander Canute.  I suggest you learn the new ways,” said Duron.  “How could you not know the customs?”

     “I've been away for some time,” said Canute carefully.

 

     A week later they were in court.  They met their attorney.

     “I am your lawyer Quillo.  Come with me.  I am court appointed.  Come to my chambers posthaste!”

     He moved fast.  Dag and Plutinia along with his six men moved to Quillo's law chambers.

     “Have a seat.  We must prepare.  There isn't much time,” said Quillo.

     They seated themselves at his long table in his chamber.

     “First of all, why are you here?” asked Quillo, interlocking his thick fingers.

     “Because we are on parole, Quillo.”

     “I see.  How did you come into possession of a spaceship?”

     “It was given as part of a package deal.  It was take it or leave it.”

     “Parolees with no supervision—that's like cutting your nose off to spite your face, Commander Canute, or whoever you are?  It's hard to believe. Very well.  I'll prepare the case.  Be here bright and early tomorrow.”

     Dag and everybody stood up.  Also, they left and went back to the capitol building.

     Quillo was one of the brightest minds in the Argentium courts.

 

     The following morning Dag and Plutinia and his crew assembled, ready to go into the court escorted by Quillo's team of lawyers.

     “All rise!” yelled the bailiff.

     Quillo started with his opening argument.  The city of Argentium lawyer gave a rebuttal, citing the opening argument's shortcomings.  Plutinia sat in the witness stand.  The city attorney motioned the question.

     “How long have you known Dag Canute?” he asked.

     “As long as we've been on this space ship.”

     “Are you on a spaceship now?”

     Quillo butted in.  “I object to the last question.  He's leading the witness.”

     “Objection sustained.  Attorney Sincur, stay in line with the questions.  No more leading the witness!”  said the Imperial Court Judge.

     “Very well, no further questions,” said Attorney Sincur.

     Quillo stepped forth and took the floor.

     “Plutinia, in all the time you've known Dag has he caused any trouble?” asked Quillo.

     “No, it's mutual, he's good to me,” she stated.

     “That's all, Plutinia.  Your honor, I'd like to call Dag Canute to the stand.”

     “Proceed, Quillo!” said the judge.

     “Dag, how did you end up here on Argentium?” asked Quillo.

     “Well, I got my first chance at parole on Bjinium.  The first in twenty years this year.  So I took it.”

     “Why were you incarcerated on Bjinium?”

     “It was all just petty deals that went wrong.  I was just a small-time operator.  Nothing major.”

     “Your honor, my client has done his time,” stated Quillo.

     “I object!  Your honor, he's grandstanding,” said attorney Sincur.

     “HERE! HERE! HERE!” came a cry from the tribunal.

     “SILENCE!” yelled the judge.  “Go on, Dag.”

     “Well, I got mixed up in some bad stuff.”

     The trial went on.  Everybody testified.

     The case went before the tribunal.  The verdict would soon be heard.

     The next day the court reconvened.  The tribunal elders gave their statement.

     “We, the tribunal, have agreed that Dag is welcome here in the midst of Argentium, a city teeming with radicals, misfits, rebels.  He and his kind can establish a base of operation here as a home planet.  It's unanimous.”