Michael almost kissed the ground once again, but restrained himself. In just a few short hours he'd be sitting with his Aunty and preparing to carve himself a nice piece of the pie... He smiled. And
those gifts were going to go down an absolute treat.

"Don't look so smug, boy," White said as he stretched his legs. The trio stepped out of the airlock and moved towards the gates. "Just remember our wager."

"I don't give a flying f-" A siren blared into the large room, followed by a flashing red light, and Michael froze, in the middle of the gate.

A second later a team of security guards stormed in and looked irritable. The taller of them (and widest) came over to Michael and beckoned him through. "Sir, can you please remove any technological items and step back through the gate."

Michael looked at him with his mouth agape. With a shrug, he removed his datapad, threw it into the basket offered and stepped through the gate again. The alarm went off once more. The guard looked at him and just pointed at the basket again. Michael removed all of his belongings, right down to a tshirt that had a flashing advert for his Gehennan campaign. Five minutes later he stepped back through the gate.

The alarm slammed back into life for a moment. The guard nodded knowingly. "You'd be Mr Ream-Caedelle then..."

"Yes, none other. What the Hell is this outrage? And why is that important?"

"Because both of your other ships have been impounded. You do realise that high tech equipment is not allowed on this planet, Mr Ream-Caedelle?"

"YES I'm aware," Michael shouted at the man, his frustration and embarrasment turning into anger. "Now get out of my bloody way and bring me my stuff!"

"Let's just stay calm now, sir. I'm afraid that only a select amount of your luggage can be taken into Aquila. The rest will be kept securely for you."

Michael took a step towards him. "Have you got any idea who I am?"

"Yes, Michael Ream-Ca-"

"Don't you DARE interrupt me!"

The man stepped forward, and Tyle tapped Michael on the arm. "Sir, these men work for the Ky Lasse Organisation... You can be pretty sure that they're packing cyber... Let's just play nicely, yes?"

Michael wheeled on him and opened his mouth as if to scream again. Then closed it and turned back to the guard.

"Okay mister arse face," he said through clenched teeth. "Can we just get this over with. What exactly can't I take through?"

The guard stepped forward with the slightest of frowns and handed him a wad of paper an inch thick.

"I'll need you to sign at the bottom. Oh, and speaking of cyber, the three of you are cordially invited to the KLO clinic to have your comm implants deactivated."

Michael glared at him for almost three minutes, as his aides held their breath.

"Let's just hurry up before I change my mind. Or somebody sees me standing here like a bloody criminal."

Michael was dressed in a boring, lime suit that didn't flash or anything. His head felt a little fuzzed, and he wanted a drink. He turned to the guy carrying their luggage. All three bags of it.

"Hurry up, boy. Where can I get a cab?"

The man (who was actually older than Michael), pointed at a horse and carriage that waited patiently by the entrance to the space port. Michael looked reproachfully at him, then at White.

They got to the carriage and loaded the luggage on without incident. Michael gestured to White, then at the luggage carrier. "Pay him."

White handed over a few gold coins and watched the man run off. "We'd better keep an eye on finances, Michael. We can only carry a hundred of these damned things each without a licence."

When Michael spoke it was in a dangerously quiet voice. "If I hear the word 'licence' one more time I'm going to personally geld someone. Cabby, get us to..." he trailed off, turned to White as they were getting into the carriage. "Where are we going."

White opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. "Sir..."

"What?"

"The address is on my datapad..."

The string of expletives that flew out of Michael's mouth covered a range of highly unlikely comments about White's heritage, personal habits and probable destination, after (incorrectly) identifying him by his genitals. The list spanned several languages.

White was silently impressed.

"Cabby, just get us to the Bahlmis household, yes?"

"Okay. I'll have to charge you extra with all the-"

"Just drive before my employer goes into apoplexy."

"Shut up, White. I'm not in the mood."

"Of course, sir."

It was some hours later that the trio turned found the house. They paid the driver an extortionate amount of money and walked into grounds that looked plucked straight from Earth's history. Michael
was slightly impressed, if extremely wary. This planet hadn't done a single nice thing to him yet. It wasn't likely to start now...

White moved silently to his left, drinking in the picture, Tyle moving to his right with the luggage, and the trio advanced to the front door of the large house. This much property on Gehenna would have cost an absolute fortune. Yes, there was much to gained on Aquila.

Michael knocked proudly on the door, painfully aware that his gifts were some miles away probably being touched and shaken by some foul little peasants whose lives weren't worth as much as the items. He shuddered.

The door opened and a quite disagreeable-looking little girl opened it, looking up at him. He took a step back and curbed the urge to take another four. Handing her a coin, he spoke in grand tones.

"I've come to see Duchess Bahlmis. Make her aware that Michael Ream-Caedelle has arrived. Tell her that her nephew has come to visit."

The little girl stared up at him for a few moments, goggle-eyed, then with a squeak turned and scurried down the passage. Her slight form was almost immediately replaced by the far more imposing figure of Petrie the butler, who scowled at the passing house slave before addressing Michael.

"Pardon me, sir. The girl is new, and unsure of her duties. Whom should I say is calling upon Lady Bahlmis?"

And just like that the butler had diffused his grandiloquent entrance. Michael glared at him for a moment, and there was a tense moment in which Tyle prepared himself for some unpleasantness. White was shaking his head and cursing his mother for ever having indulged in a bout of bedroom athletics.

Then Michael smiled, a thin, politician's smile and spoke to the butler in an almost condescending tone. "Would you be so kind as to tell the D-The Lady Bahlmis that her nephew, Michael Ream-Caedelle of Gehenna has come to see her?"

Without even flicking an eyebrow, Petrie replied, "Certainly, sir. If you and your attendants would care to step into the book-room--" With a very slight bow and a gesture he indicated a small, office-like chamber opening to one side of the front hall. "--I shall ascertain whether Lady Bahlmis is at home."

He turned and paced majestically back down the hall to the parlour.

"Personally, I believe we will find plenty to do here," said Talaren gravely. "Our House is in disgrace ... and, I admit, rightly so, from all accounts. On us it will fall to rebuild the House - to make it a trustworthy name again ... and that is the key currency of trade, whether it is the trade of goods and possessions or the trade of id ... "

He broke off at the sound of carriage wheels sounded outside the House and looked inquiringly at his aunt.

"Aunt? Were you expecting further visitors? Or might this be Lady Anderon, returned to hurl yet more well-deserved abuse at me?"

Rosalor looked puzzled, glancing in the direction of the front windows. "No, I was not expecting anyone else, and it is getting rather late in the day for morning calls." She rose and went to the window.

"That is not the carriage Lady Anderon left in," she noted. "I wonder who it could be." She watched through the window as the occupants of the carriage descended. "A young man in an incredible shade of green," she noted, "and two attendants. Oh well, Petrie will sort it out..."

Basil stood right behind her, peering over her shoulder. "Mmm. Well, I can't say I know much about fashion--" He paused and looked down at his clothes and blushed. "Obviously.--but the style looks close to what I've seen recently, while riding one of my family's trade routes--um, the Mederes side, of course. I don't know enough to say if it's cutting edge or out of date by now, but it's probably from offworld. A bit plain, though. I'd thought the trend was for more...active clothing these days. I wonder who they could be?"

Talaren watched thoughtfully through the window.

"I think I'd make a point of avoiding any world which had that particular shade of green as a fashionable colour," he commented.

He turned his head as Patrie entered ...

"Yes, Petrie? Who is it?" Rosalor asked the butler.

"The gentleman gives his name as Michael Ream-Caedelle, of Gehenna," Petrie said. His face was perfectly wooden as he added, "He claims to be your nephew, my lady."

Rosalor's eyebrows went up in surprise. "My nephew? I was not aware of having any nephew of that name."

She glanced briefly at Talaren and Basil, as if hoping for further enlightenment.

"Well, show him in, Petrie," she said at last. "This could prove . . . interesting."

End of Chapter 7