Seventy hours and counting, thought Aquilla wryly. That's what Bakara had told him, a worried look on his face. Seems he'd been given a pasting by some operative he'd notified about the delay. Well. Aquilla paced around his quarters, not that they were very spacious. Trouble was, that was yesterday! Glancing at his watch for the hundredth time that morning, Aquilla noted that fifty five of the seventy hours had now passed. Blast that Jake! What was he playing at? And no communication either. Aquilla had many times tried to reach the Aurora B on subspace radio, but no luck. Mind you that didn't tell him much, the crew frequently rigged for red, with complete radio silence and the ships emergency transponder even switched off. In their line of business it was sometimes necessary to play safe, it helped you stay alive.

Aquilla could not stand pacing around in his cabin any longer. He made his way out down the ships corridor, but Bakari stopped him just as he reached the airlock. 'No news, I take it, Aquilla?' muttered Bakari. 'No, no yet,' Aquilla replied, 'but I'm still...'

He didn't finish his sentence, for suddenly there was a deafening roar of over-worked retro engines blasting from outside, getting louder by the second. Both men peered out of the viewport, and were rewarded by the sight of a decrepit looking bucket of a space vessel hurtling towards them, rocking eratically. Her retro rockets were on full, blasting sand of the desert all over the place. 'Something's wrong', opined Aquilla, 'it looks as though only three of the four engines are running.'

A moment later the roaring suddenly stopped. All Aquilla and Bakari could see was a sandstorm effect outside. Others of Bakari's combat crew joined them to watch. But they had to wait ten minutes before it was safe to go out without wearing oxygen masks, as the dust had settled.

About fifty yards due south sat the Aurora B, secure and horizontal despite the hairy landing. As they approached the space packet, a hatch opened and a tall, square shouldered man in combat fatigues emerged. He was followed by a grissly looking guy and a youngish woman. The guy looked like a tramp and the woman like a fashion victim. 'Aquilla!' called Jake Hawkins.

Aquilla greeted the man, relieved to see they had survived. 'What happened to your engine, man?' he said. Jake grinned. 'Oh that, yep we took a hit on the third engine just as we were leaving the Badlands. A pirate fleet was on our tail, we, er, had to leave quick before they got their accountant to check what we paid them for some kit.'

Aquilla turned to Bakari. 'You wouldn't think so from her outward appearance, but this vessel has got better engines and stealth gear than some military birds pack. Any other ship would have been a month or more late with only three engines, but Jake here made it with' (he checked his watch) 'fifteen hours to spare.'

'And who is this?' asked Bakari uneasily, glancing at the woman who was observing him with some interest. 'Oh that's Meg' said Aquilla, 'she does navigation and stuff' (when she's sober, he nearly added.)

'Nice combat gear' said Meg, looking at Bakari admiringly. 'Know how to use it?'

'OK fine' said Jake quickly, 'let's not waste these people's time. If you care to help us unload, the cargo's all yours. You'll need to be VERY careful how you handle some of it though, it's a mite sensitive, you could say.'

Aquilla laughed. He hadn't had so much fun for many a year.