KEDPIN SCUTTLED OUT OF THE alley, thanking the stars that he had escaped with his life. Then he heard the sounds of fighting behind him, and his relief was eclipsed by sudden, overwhelming shame. It didn’t make any sense. Anglang Lehet was an admitted criminal. A criminal who had framed him and planned to kill him. And besides, Kedpin was no fighter. Kedpin did everything he could to avoid ever being hit. And he cried when people hit him.

Kedpin wasn’t a fighter and this wasn’t his fight. Why should he feel shame? It was ridiculous. He kept walking, ignoring the guilty gnawing in his guts.

He was almost out of the long, narrow alley when he heard the violent crackling of electricity and Anglang Lehet’s scream.

Kedpin froze in his tracks. Whatever the big alien had been planning, when it had come down to it, Anglang Lehet had not let him die. How could Kedpin leave him like this?

Be bold in the sale and you’ll surely prevail; Kedpin had written that one decades ago, but he didn’t think he’d ever quite lived it.

Summoning something within himself that he couldn’t quite name, Kedpin Shoklop turned around and raced back into the alley.

—

Anglang Lehet was preparing to die when a bright pink ball of flesh came hurtling at the Old City Boys from behind, screaming something about payback and vaporator sales. Shoklop!

Shoklop’s soft little form was no match for the Klatooinians, of course—he merely crashed off them, having managed only to knock himself down. But it was all the help Anglang needed. While the Old City Boys were distracted, Anglang grabbed onto the stun stick that had just been used on him and bodychecked Uk as hard as he could. It normally would have been a fool’s move, but she was surprised enough that it worked. He wrested the stun stick from her grasp and backed up three steps.

Anglang smashed the capacity safety module on the end of the stun stick, pointed it toward the Klatooinians, and pressed the activator button.

The stunfield pulse shot out in a fan shape, a visible wave of energy hitting all three remaining Klatooinians and instantly knocking them flat. The weapon sparked and grew hot, and Anglang dropped it. The smell of burnt ozone filled the air.

For a moment Anglang just stood there in shock, as immobile as the comatose Klatooinians. Then Kedpin Shoklop’s cries roused him. The little pink alien was trapped under one of the Old City Boys, who’d apparently staggered back from the stun stick blast and collapsed on top of him.

Anglang rolled the dog-faced creature off his unlikely rescuer. Anglang was impressed in spite of himself. Shoklop couldn’t fight worth a damn, of course, but he’d come back and tried to, which showed more grit than Anglang had thought the little pink fool capable of. And he just might have saved Anglang’s life. “Not bad, little man,” he said. “Not bad.”

“Well, when I started out, VaporTech used to send me to sell vaporators door-to-door in the Grime Quarter. I guess I learned a thing or two about fighting!”

Anglang bent over Uk and her henchbeings, rifling through their pockets. All told, enough to get by for a week or so. Not much. But not much was always better than nothing.

Shoklop’s too-loud voice broke in on his thoughts. “Are you stealing from these beings?”

Anglang shrugged. “It’s not stealing. They tried to kill us. It’s how this works. Rules.”

Anglang looked at Shoklop. “As a matter of fact, put out your hand, little man.” He put a few slivers of precious metal into Shoklop’s pink, soft palm. “It’s not much, but you helped knock heads, so some of it’s yours. Maybe enough to replace some of the things you lost in your luggage.”

Anglang noted with surprise that Shoklop didn’t protest or refuse. He simply closed his hand around the money. “Forget my luggage,” the little man said. “Let’s go to the races.”