Three of Lanyon's adventures as an intergalactic gun-for-hire in the 23rd century. Meet Honna, a beautiful Malcosian woman with a long and gorgeous tail; Jophena, an 11-year-old with a spunky attitude; and Predamor, a Malcosian fellow who gets Lanyon into as much trouble as they both can handle.
The newly released inmates helped drag the bulky Tellurians into an empty cell. Lanyon imprisoned them with the force field and led the group of thirteen to the open entrance of the cellblock.
They crossed the guard’s office to the door that led up the six flights of stairs.
Lanyon turned to the group following him. “We’ve got to be silent now,” and he put his index finger to his lips.
Lanyon looked at her, puzzled.
“Do you know what you just did with your finger? You told them all to go…”
“Jophena!” said Halmar in a violent whisper. “Lanyon, if you wish to tell these prisoners to be quiet, as I presume you do, you should do this.” Halmar took his second and third fingers and thumb and pressed them onto his pursed lips. “What you did… doesn’t mean that. It is an insult.”
"Oh. Well then…” Lanyon pressed his lips together with his fingers and thumb, as Jophena giggled. He opened the door and everyone moved silently up the stairs toward the office of the Tellurian in charge of the spaceport.
Lanyon stunned two guards standing in their way, and when they reached the door to the spaceport director’s office, he paused to let his small army cluster near. He lifted his finger toward his mouth then quickly changed it to a pinch of his lips. He pointed to himself and then toward the door, finishing with his palm toward his listeners, hoping this was not another insult. He saw Jophena nod. She approved. He pointed at her sharply, then pointed straight down. Don’t move.