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wanted to know.
    “You can take all the water you want,” Rebo replied evenly, “so long as you don’t pass any along to members of the troupe. If you do, we’ll cut you off.”
    “And you don’t plan to charge us?”
    “Nope . . . That would be wrong.”
    “It sure as hell would be,” the first man commented fervently. “We’ll be back with our canteens.”
    “Sounds good,” Rebo replied. “We’ll see you later.”
    The men left, word spread quickly, and it wasn’t long before a large contingent of circus performers had threaded their way between the newly created encampments to form a semicircle in front of the water faucet. The rest of the passengers saw the action and stopped whatever they were doing in order to watch. Not because they favored one faction over the other, but because the question of who controlled the water was important, and everyone had a stake in the conflict.
    Most of the troupe were in mufti, but a few wore full makeup, which made them look more menacing somehow. The beast master had chosen himself as spokesman for the group. His voice was little more than a growl, and his eyes seemed to glow with hatred. “Give the woman to us, leave the area, and we’ll let you live.”
    Rebo nodded gravely. “Generally speaking, I like a man who comes right to the point—but I’m afraid that you constitute the exception to that rule. I suggest that you return to your corner.”
    “Or what ?” the beast master demanded belligerently. “Do you think you can shoot all of us?”
    “No,” the runner replied evenly. “That would be unrealistic. I am pretty fast however, so I think I can kill five or six of you before you can close with us. Then, given Bo’s expertise with that war hammer, two or three more will go down. Oh, and don’t forget the woman you want so much. . . . She’s good for at least a couple more. That puts the price for water at ten people. So, if that’s acceptable to you, make your move. Which one of you clowns would like to die first?”
    But, before any of the performers could reply, Norr pointed upward. “Jak! Look!”
    The runner looked up into the maze of girders that crisscrossed the top of the hold, spotted a figure silhouetted against one of the lights, and knew he’d been suckered. Even as the beast master kept him busy one of the troupe’s trapeze artists had worked his way into position and was about to fire a long-barreled rifle.
    But Rebo carried the long single-shot Hogger for exactly that sort of situation—and knew he could make the shot with his spectacles on. Unfortunately the runner’s spectacles were stored in his pack, and the would-be assassin amounted to little more than an out-of-focus blur. That’s what the runner was thinking as he brought the long-barreled pistol up into position and the acrobat fired. There was a flash, followed by a loud report and a clang , as the lead ball nipped the top of Rebo’s right shoulder and flattened itself against the bulkhead behind him.
    Thanks to the fact that the sniper was armed with a muzzle-loader rather than a repeater, there was no follow-up shot—which provided the runner with the opportunity to return fire. The momentary pain, followed by the sudden rush of adrenaline, combined to produce an instinctive response. The big handgun jerked in Rebo’s hand, the 30-30 slug flew true, and the out-of-focus blob seemed to wobble. Then, as the loud boom echoed back and forth between the ship’s steel bulkheads, the trapeze artist fell. There was a sickening thump as his body hit the deck. That was followed by a clatter as the muzzle-loader shattered, and the force of the impact sent pieces of the weapon skittering far and wide.
    “So,” Rebo said, as he lowered the still-smoking Hogger. “He went first. . . . Who would like to go second?”
    The beast master and a couple of others might have taken their chances, but the rest of the crowd had already begun to back away, and that forced the more