Half way between Phoenix and
Saguaro National Park (West) 

"Only Goose goes three hundred miles on horseback through Arizona starting in late morning in mid-June!" Doc snorted. "Voluntarily!" He shuddered. "My saddle is melting under me," he complained. "Why can't we use the gliders, Boss?" 
     "Because it looks as if he's heading for the National Parks, Doc, and vehicles aren't allowed there." Zach ground his teeth and wiped the sweat off his forehead. The temperature was over 95F by now and the heat was still increasing. "Law from 2046." 
     "Can't we apply for special permission?" 
     "In a field exercise?!" Zach threw him a dark look. "Think again!" 
     "But they have air conditioning!" the hacker protested. 
     "Don't be such a whiner." Niko shook her head. "What did you expect of him? That he'd stay right under our noses in Phoenix? We know him better than that." 
     "But a race through the desert?! In June?!" 
     She shrugged. "Shane." 

2092-06-14 

Midday 
Saguaro National Park (West) 
307 miles off Phoenix 
slightly above 200F (according to Doc's personal feeling of temperature) 

In their own way these are beautiful...* Niko thought. Her gaze swept across the extended cactus field their path ran through. Bushy cacti grew knee-deep all around the narrow sightseeing path. Their long golden thorns stuck out between almost glowing pink blooms. Gigantic yellow and orange flowers several meters above the ground topped the tree-like Saguaros that were scattered among the smaller cacti. 
     She'd asked about them at the mission this morning and had learned that the bloom of the hedgehog cerei, as the smaller cacti were called, was almost over while that of the big Saguaros had just begun. 
     Not for the first time she wondered how the plants managed to flower in this scorching heat at all. It was a horrible time to travel this country, still... The sights were probably worth the strain, though she doubted very much that Zach and Doc would agree. The summer heat had already baked the soil to a nearly stonelike hardness, at least when it came under the hooves of a cybersteed. They hadn't seen a hoofprint in hours. And on this near desert soil... 
     "Wait a minute!" Niko's call brought them to a halt. Zach and Doc turned their horses back toward her. "Could that be a hoofmark?" She pulled Mel a few strides away from the path and dismounted. Crouching, she ran her fingertips over the tiny drift of sand, careful not to erase the shallow, round dent in it.  
     After a moment, she shook her head and looked up, laying her hand at the brim of her hat to shield her eyes better against the burning sun. "I'm not sure. Zachary? Can you have a look at it?" 
     "Why don't you use your powers to discover whether or not it's him?" Doc muttered under his breath while nudging Voyager to follow Brutus. 
     "Because I'm unable not to notice the information I receive through the link about his position if I tried to determine his position psionically," she returned icily, at least as icily as possible while sweating in a heat of, according to Mel's sensors, 106F. "And that would be unfair!" 
     "And us being baked to dust is fair?" 
     "In this case, yes!" 
     "Stop it, people. Please." Zachary's usually iron nerves were worn thin by this heat, too. He examined the imprint Niko had found. 
     "What do you think?" the telepath asked him. 
     "It's possible. But I'm not sure, either." He sighed. "I was stationed at the Baltic sea when I had my course of trail-tracking. Hiiumaa is mostly limestone and sediments, and the climate's moderate. No conditions like this. But if this is indeed a hoofprint then he can't be that far ahead of us. This sand is as dry and fine as dust. The lightest breeze would have erased the imprint." 
     Doc jumped down from Voyager. "Let me see it, too." He crouched down between Zach and Niko, looking curiously at the sand drift. "If it's a hoofprint," he began, pointing vaguely at it, "then in what direction does it go?" 
     "Away from the path," Zach concluded. "If we assume we were right that he followed it up from the old mission." 
     The hacker looked darkly. "Not that we have a sure proof for that, either." 
     "He did," Niko said with conviction. "Anywhere else he had to cross soft ground where he'd have left tracks. The path was the only way he wouldn't leave tracks behind, unless he returned straight back to the tarred street." 
     Zachary nodded. "And there he'd have run into us. I agree. He left the path here." With a glance on his compass, he continued, "There's an old mining town in that direction. Maybe that's his aim..." 
     "Gooseman and digging?!" Doc raised a brow and a sweat drop on it was in danger of dripping down into his eye. He rubbed it away, smearing sweat-sticky dust across his dark face. "So it's that direction," he concluded for himself, "we should try to find another print, then, and–" He sighed. "–get out of this kiln before we dry out like Californian raisins–" He leaned back. 
     "Caref–" Zachary reached for him. 
     "Doc!" Niko cried out. "W–!" 
     "WILBUR!" Voyager hooted. 
     But all of them were too slow... 

at the same time: 
Dellinger's Tailor Shop for the Fine Gentleman 
Downtown Phoenix 

"I assume the price on this tag is the amount of money I get if I disfigure myself with wearing this?" the client asked with a raised brow, also raising the expensive blazer with two fingertips expressing contempt. 
     Charles Dellinger – he preferred his given name pronounced 'Shahrl' as in French – noticed that this client was able to raise his brows and to deliver the image of threateningly lowered brows with it. It wasn't the first time Charles had to reassess this client:  
     Maybe the gentleman in question had entered the shop wearing dusty black jeans and a shirt Mr. Dellinger preferred not to think too closely about. Maybe the customer had looked as if he would have problems with settling even a bill at Woolworth's. But at Charles' snippy question about how he was going to pay, the man had named a customer account, entered the password, and caused a blinking gold frame around Charles' handheld's display that had altered the tailor's behavior immediately. The account belonged to one of his best customers; one that was worth Money. Capitalized. And the man obviously knew what he wanted. Still– 
     "You have to understand. This season the jackets are worn closely fitting, especially the creations in the Italian style–" 
     "Rubbish," the client chided. "It's too tight and there's not enough space at the shoulders and under the arms. What would I do with a suit I can't move in, Charley? Get a job as a mannequin?!" 
     Mr. Dellinger suppressed his wince at 'Charley' and sighed. "Maybe we should try some of the more conservative models then..." 
     "And don't come up with another frilly, pastel-colored whatever." 
     Charles sighed again. Audibly. What a pity. Here he had finally a customer who made the best advertising a tailor could possibly get, in spite of his bluish sun glasses, and the man ignored the current fashion completely. What was the saying? Life's a bitch. How true. 

"Now this should be to your taste," Charles brushed some imaginary dust molecules off the smooth cloth and took a step back to have a full-length view of his customer's appearance. Satisfied with what he saw, he smiled. "Plain yet elegant but comfortable." 
     His customer shrugged the shoulders, stretched his arms, and turned at the hips to test the freedom this creation allowed. Charles had to catch himself not to stare at the impressive muscles curling beneath the smooth cloth. At least he managed not to whistle admiringly. "I just hope you don't plan to rob somebody, sir. It's loose enough that you could hide a holstered uzi beneath it." 
     The expression of his customer was hidden by reflections in his glasses. "Not even nearly," the man stated flatly. "But a narrow Beretta might fit." He bent his neck to check the fit of the collar, then finally nodded approvingly. "That's better. Do you have something like this in silk?" 

2092-06-16 

BetaMountain 
MPQ 219 
late at night 

Her door hissed closed behind a weary Niko, who took the knife out of her boot sheath, pulled the knee high boots off her sore legs, and tossed them beneath the hallway table. The knife ended on top of said table. She took off her weapon belt half way to the stairs, draping it over the bannister. Goose would have a fit... she thought and shuffled down the stairs. 
     Three days gone. Another three to go. They had returned only minutes ago and she was more than glad that Zach had granted them at least a couple of hours to sleep in their own beds. Tomorrow the chase would go on. She remembered his dry question if she were still sure that using her psionics to find him was unfair and grimaced.  
     Whatever.  
     Goose... Doc would get him for the sight-seeing of Saguaro-land... 

2092-06-17 

BetaMountain 
GRS5 Office 
1128 

Doc, standing at his console, looked over his shoulder. "Any luck at the airport, you two?" 
     Zachary tossed his hat on the coat rack. "Nothing. And you?" Niko dropped herself unceremoniously into the nearest free chair. 
     "Arrrrrr...." The hacker straightened and pressed his hands against his back. "I can't stand any longer. – I tried to talk RHONDDA into using the internal surveillance system for checking if he's still on the base. But to no avail. Our dearest mainframe is acting the coward."  
     "By base you mean his quarters?" 
     "Yeah." The hacker sighed. "RHONDDA had a tough talk with ALMA. Guess who won? And you know about that monstrous locking device Goose installed after the case with the mad droids?" 
     "Ouch. Yes. Better leave it alone." 
     "But I'm through with the check of the credit card accounts." Doc shook his head. "Nada. None of BETA's card accounts was billed with anything unusual during the last four days." 
     "Any hotel or guest house bills within this state?" 
     Doc snorted. "Over one-hundred." 
     The captain frowned. "And within Phoenix itself?" 
     "A dozen. But I doubt very much that Goose is among them." Doc drew a face when he shifted his weight. "He must know that we'd check BETA's accounts if we got back alive." 
     "Does it still hurt?" Zachary asked compassionately. 
     "Don't start, boss!" The hacker produced an impressive mix of a groan and a growl. "I wished he hadn't gotten an untrackable card. Normally I'd just list what had been bought on those accounts with the hotel bills on and we'd have a pattern. But this untrackable thing jumps between all of BETA's accounts with its billings." He snorted. "Simple system, but damned effective." 
     "Can you give us a list of the hotels and what's going on there at the moment?" 
     "Sure." Doc tried to reach his console's keyboard without bending down. "Darn." He unclipped his CDU. "Just a sec. – Pathfinder, I need your typing assistance–" 
     =Really, Docco! You should get off your butt and–= 
     "I am off my butt!" The hacker yelled at the bluish sparkle. "I can't get on my butt, okay?!" 
     =Whoa, Doccolino. This is a children's TV show! You ought to do something about those fits of temper. Maybe you should get yourself an appointment with you?= 
     Zach edged for the door. "Try to find out if any irregularities came up at those hotels. Unexpected guests or some such. I'll be back after dinner." 

BetaMountain 
GRS5 Office 
1407 

"Here's the list, Captain." Doc sighed. "But it doesn't look good. Most of the rooms at the hotels that billed BETA had been ordered long before we got that assignment." 
     "No exceptions?" 
     "Well, yes, one." Doc appeared very unhappy. "The Saguaro Hotel Tower." 
     Zachary frowned. "That's an expensive address. It's unusual for BETA to book rooms there." 
     "Expensive?" Niko snickered. "That's an understatement, Zach. Not that I don't believe Goose capable of using one to distract us." 
     "People, they are hosting this year's LLPC." Doc shook his head. "The fifth League Literati and Poetics Convention." 
     "You mean–" Zachary began. 
     "They are filled up to their roof with poets," the hacker said dryly. "Do you really believe Goose can blend into such a group without going nuts?" 
     The Captain shrugged. "Niko and I checked the airport this morning. No luck. So your hotel is the only trace we have." He reached for his hat. "We'll check the other places as well, but I don't want to ignore the possibility that he is staying at the Saguaro." 

2092-06-18 

Downtown Phoenix 
Saguaro Hotel Tower 
Conference Hall A 

"Art for the art's sake is the only kind of art to be considered art. Everything else is but an artistic veil tossed over non-art!" the Dharguni author with his wild mane in sunset colors seemed to imitate a Philomachus pugnax, a Ruff, proverbially ruffling his feathers in his brown business suit.  
     The attacked human poet didn't appear to be concerned about it. She had a deep sip out of a long drink that looked like a mix between a Banana Daiquiri and a Bloody Mary. The sight alone convinced Niko that not being anywhere near it was something for which she owed the Powers That Be eternal gratitude [1]. Meanwhile, the sipper on stage returned the Ruff's volley: "Here we got a fine example of verbal Dadaism. Though not necessarily in the meaning of the post World War II art form." 
     Niko, inconspicuously searching the room, listened, and found herself increasingly amused. A feeling that a sizable number of the huge audience shared with her. The discussion panel was obviously a popular event. She recognized quite a few of the faces gathered around the round-table. The Dhargun, Onbyr, was famous for his abstract poesies. The woman he attacked was Chidera of Nigeria, who had written a much cited epic about Africa's way to prosperity.  
     Though Niko hadn't thought that a literati panel could become that heated. The discussion leader had noticed the underlying aggression as well. "Maybe your colleague to the right has something to add to this. Mr.–" 
     "Do you have to disturb our guests much longer, Ranger?" The hotel manager, Mr. Delarus, seemingly always agitated and in a hurry approached her as fast as the crush in the audience allowed. "This is one of the finest houses in Phoenix. I doubt very much that a fugitive–" 
     Niko sighed. "Mr. Delarus..." 
     On the podium, the sandy shock of the man addressed had raised an inch, though not enough to erase the reflections from the spotlights in his bluish colored glasses. Were they really blue? He took his glass up with dark gloved fingers and swirled the clear liquid slowly, studying it most fascinated. "Maybe," he said finally.  
     Onbyr snorted. "And what is that supposed to mean?" 
     "Maybe not art." 
     Amusement rippled through the group of international literati and poets gathered around the conference table and spread out into the numerous audience. A couple of panelists hid their smirks behind the occasional drinking glass or notebook. Niko frowned, something stirred in her memories but she couldn't quite grasp it. "Who's the gentleman with the sandy hair in the discussion round?" she asked the hotel manager quietly. 
     "Oh," Mr. Delarus blinked twice and, nodding like a chicken searching for grains, used his sleeve screen to check the admission data.  
     'Functional clothing' was still the hype, despite being on the market for over a decade now. And today's models were above many of the bugs and issues of the earlier versions. Niko recalled the beginning of the inbuild printing devices from a museum show. There had been a reason for the line 'Let's fart a fax'... 
     "He's a very unknown poet from the former Republic of South Afrika. I can print you a copy if you like..." 
     "No need." Niko stopped him, though it was highly unlikely that Delarus wore such an old model in his position. "I just wondered."  
     The noise caused by the amused audience died slowly. It was obvious that the sandy-haired had won the audience with his refusal to take the matter seriously. Still... With a sigh of regret Niko called herself to order and concentrated upon surveilling the crowded audience for hints of their "rabbit".  
     Doc had finished his round and signalled her from the entrance. 
     She acknowledged him with a nod and began to make her way to the exit. It didn't look as if the hacker had been more successful than she. They could only hope that Zach dug something up at the spaceport.  
     On the podium behind her the offended Dharguni poet barked, "How dares someone who hasn't even been published under his own name to have an opinion about the value of true art?!"  
     Just as the door closed behind Niko, the South African replied dryly in his heavily accented voice: "I read the price tags on yours." 

Zach had waited for them in the lobby. "Anything new from you?" But their dark faces told him that they hadn't been more lucky than he. He sighed. They were running late. Very late.  
     "I still think we should frisk the airport and BETA itself." Doc leaned carefully against the reception table. 
     "We checked BETA before we even used the satellite surveillance," the captain reminded him. 
     "Yes, and all it got us was running after Triton through half of the state!" the hacker snorted. "A fine exercise. For my backside." He caught himself. "What I mean, is Goose knows the surveillance systems as well as we do, maybe better. I doubt he's able to trick me at the comps but he's well able to trick us out of BETA while he lies back comfortably in an air conditioned room with Tri-D and enough snacks for a week. And the airport sees so many travelers that it's impossible to track every single person coming and going. He could even have stayed there. So..." he shrugged. 
     "You really want to get him, don't you?" Niko asked the hacker. 
     "For every single thorn, my dearest lady!" 
     "We should frisk those places again just to be sure." Zach cut in. "If you can't find something it's usually in the place where you looked first. Still, I don't want to ignore that the only hint of an unexpected guest was in this hotel. Niko, you stay here." He indicated a sauntering maid in an 18th Century servant's apron running ads for the highlights of the LLPC schedule. The slightly blurred fringes marked her as a holographic entity. "Tomorrow is the final banquet of the convention. Everyone will be there or be highly suspicious. Attend it. Doc, you go back to BETA. See, if you can convince the mainframe into tracking one of the personnel even inside personnel quarters if necessary." 
     "Charming. The mainframe vs. ALMA round two. Does anyone want a copy?" 
     "Me, please." Niko snickered. "And five credits on ALMA." 
     "Traitor." 
     "Always. I take it that you'll take the airport then, Zach?" 
     "Yes. And now get going. We have only tonight and tomorrow left, otherwise..." 
     "...we'll hear the next three weeks that he outdid us." Doc shuddered. 

BetaMountain 
MPQ 217 

Late in the evening this part of the mountain was utterly silent. Usually. At the moment, the silence was broken by the conversation Doc had with ALMA about granting him access to Shane's apartment. 
     "...but you must see that it is in Goose's interest to allow me to make sure he isn't hiding from us in there. If he hasn't left the mountain at all, it is most likely that he will be punished for not fulfilling his order." 
     =You are searching for him, therefore he has fulfilled his order, Ranger Hartford.=  
     "The scheduled exercise is the search for a fugitive, ALMA, not hide-and-seek play." Doc smiled broadly. He was definitely making progress here. "And if I can't convince myself that he isn't hiding in his quarters then I won't go looking for him elsewhere and thus he does not fulfill his order of fleeing from us." 
     =Rubbish!= ALMA's not-at-all chirping electronic voice interrupted him briskly. =Ranger Hartford, stop nitpicking at logical definitions! Fact: you intend to enter these quarters without having a valid permit of access. Fact: that is forbidden. Result: You violate the law. Period. Get lost!= 
     A crackling indicated that the connection had been cut. Doc just gaped at the door speakers for several minutes. Then he snorted. So that heap of disorganized fuzzy-logic-bytes wanted to do this the hard way?! Okay... 

2092-06-19 

Phoenix 
International Air- and Spaceport 

"Blond? About six foot five?" The airport security's chief – A. Smithee – frowned. "Hm... yea, there was one. Five days ago. Though the hair was more sand than blond."  
     "You are sure about the day?" Zachary inquired.  
     "Oh yes." The man snorted. "Look, Ranger. Usually, it's the Space section where there's trouble, but that customer..." he shook his head. "That South African poet was worse than the 87 drunken Andorian math hooligans roaring obscene equivalence relations across the C terminal!" 
     Zachary stopped. "Did you say 'poet'?" 
     "Yes." He snorted again. "A Jan van Stratten. His wallet had been stolen." 
     "Do you remember him well?" 
     "Yeah." Smithee snipped an imagined dust flake off his desk. "I won't forget that pettifogging fellow anytime soon! Man, that man got on our nerves with his replacement IDs." 
     "Did he have green eyes?" 
     "Hard to say. He wore a pair of those colored glasses." 
     Zachary, turning from the counter, activated his wristcom. "Niko." 
     She answered quickly. =Yes?= 
     "I probably got a trace. Cross-check with the hotel manager if there's a Jan van Stratten – Stratten with double-T – on the convention. It's poss–" 
     =You think that could be Goose?= 
     "Possibly. Fox out." 

Saguaro Hotel Tower 
Suite 1001 
late morning 

"Ranger! I must protest. Mr. van Stratten was very insistant about that he was not to be disturbed before the afternoon tea. You cannot possibly disturb a guest because of his sleeping hab–" 
     "Mr. Delarus," Niko said firmly while keeping a tight grip on her patience. "Mr. Stratten's–" 
     "Van Stratten!" the hotel manager corrected her with an indignant sniff. 
     "Mr. van Stratten's sleeping habits are of no concern to me. But he is the only guest who had arrived within the critical time for whom you have only a temporary ID. That makes him highly suspicious. So either we disturb Mr. van Stratten now, or I am forced to involve the PPD and all this becomes official. What do you prefer?"  
     Delarus glared darkly at her. Chicken-chested or not, the man defended his guests. Niko had to give him credit for that, though that feature of Mr. Delarus' character had become pretty annoying by now. Finally, he deactivated the door bell block and had it ding.  
     No response. 
     "If Mr. van Stratten doesn't answer the door I'll need you to override the lock," Niko said about two minutes later. 
     "Only if you show me a valid search warrant for his rooms, Ranger." A muscle in Delarus' cheesy cheek twitched. The argument was stopped by the door sliding open. 

The man – Niko assumed it was one inside the ball of white, fluffy hotel towels – had drawn a foamy wet path across the carpet. A slowly expanding puddle formed around his hammertoed bare feet, as he stood in the door. Apparently, he'd been taking a bath when they rang him out. 
     "Mr. van Stratten, I'm sorry to–" Delarus began. 
     "Mr. Jan van Stratten?" Niko cut smoothly in, ignoring the hotel manager for once. 
     "Ja?" he asked drowsily, in what was likely his mother tongue and blinked through steamed glasses almost hidden in the chaotic towel turban he'd wrapped around his head. 
     At her inquiry he blinked some more, then failed to hide a yawn. "Sorry, what did you say?" 
     She repeated patiently, searching for a sign of Goose among the towels and in the room behind him. 
     "You ring me out of my bath... at this afschuwelijk time to ask about my papers?"  
     Van Stratten rubbed a bare left foot against his right ankle and spread his toes. If his heavily colored Standard was any indication, then he wasn't happy at all. Though his cold glare would have been far more impressive if his glasses weren't almost opaque with steam.  
     "My wallet was stolen at arrival. Do you know what it means to get temporary replacements at this place?" He snorted. "Something unnecessary, if the authorities–" He glared at Niko as if she personally had robbed him of his papers. "–had done their jobs." With that he turned his back towards her. 
     "Heer Delarus." Niko got the impression they'd really annoyed the man, for his accent had become even worse. His 'Delarus' sounded like 'Dehjarysh'. "Have a bediende taking care of the wet carpet." The door slammed into their faces. "Daag." 

BetaMountain 
Office of Cmdr. Walsh 

"Commander, I swear I have no idea why the Mountain suffered a massive power failure! What makes you think that I'm responsible?" 
     "Besides this note from Ranger Gooseman's AI informing me about an attempted violation of Ranger Gooseman's privacy?" Walsh asked him in a dry voice, indicating a message displayed on the ceramic surface of his desk. 
     "That program did what?!" Hartford gaped.  
     "ALMA informed me about your attempted violation of privacy, Ranger Hartford." Walsh repeated patiently and scrolled down to the end of the message. "Including a list of the usually applied penalties – just in case it slipped my mind." He added with irony. "Did you know that the maximum punishment issued for it so far is nearly ten years close confinement?" 
     The hacker gulped. 
     "And the fact that the mainframe is whining across the base that its shrink talked it into being a bad comp..." Walsh pressed his fingertips together. "...was a strong hint, too." 
     "I–" Doc stuttered. 
     The pink eyeball of Gooseman's AI suddenly appeared on Walsh's desk, replacing the message. The commander only winced slightly and leaned back. The humming of the console systems indicated that the room was being scanned. With a blip the AI disappeared from the screen on Walsh's desk to glare down from the window projector behind the commander. 

"What on Earth–" Doc began. "I thought the display function is access-limited!" 
     "It is." Walsh shrugged fatalistically.  
     ALMA's single eye seemed to narrow and zero in on the hacker. Its larger-than-life display bathed the room in a cozy pink light. It's electronic voice was anything but. =You, sir, are a privacy violating boob who ought to learn personal rights on the spot!= With another blip, it was gone. 
     "I thought you knew by now that ALMA's no standard AI, Hartford." Walsh sighed. "She's programmed to keep Gooseman at bay if necessary. So keep that in mind, dammit! Last time you pulled a stunt like this it took me six months to reconstruct the payroll budget!" 
     Doc winced. "Please tell me it didn't happen again this time..." He swallowed. "You have no idea what kind of invoice-agents Morcistof has in it's service..." 
     "You were lucky, Hartford. It killed some emails and my good humor." Walsh grunted. "And now, realign Rhondda. She's getting on my nerves with her continuous apologies!"