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said Pranzilla, and she flicked at the dial that turned the little camera on top of the ship. It was facing backwards towards the bow, and Cormack could see on the large screen ahead the toy spaceship still pulled by the thread attached to the transporter.
    ‘OK, cut the wire!’ said Proton, and the thread came away and the toy tumbled from the camera.
    ‘They definitely have a lock on,’ said Pranzilla, ‘but it’s too early to say if it’s on the transporter or the decoy.’
    ‘Time will tell! Time will tell!’ said Proton.
    There followed a nervous few minutes as Proton led the crew through a series of rapid turns and accelerations - the effect that they might be having on the cow, strapped to the outer casing, Cormack found hard to imagine – until at last they levelled off and Proton signalled that they should maintain a steady course, full speed ahead.
     
    ‘Praetorian Guard – your time is up!’ boomed the voice from the speaker system. ‘We have full lock on the transporter. We will be firing on you in five, four, three…’
    ‘You know, now that Cormack’s mentioned it, I wonder if bin liners really are effective as a cloaking device for a transporter vessel in outer space…’ said Proton.
    ‘…two, one,’ came the voice from the speaker system, and Cormack and Proton and the crew braced themselves for the explosion that would blast them into nothingness.
    ‘Detonation, three hundred clicks to our south,’ said Pranzilla. ‘They hit the decoy!’
    ‘Yeah!’ screamed Proton. ‘They took the bait! My regards to the cow, Cormack!’
    ‘Rather tame,’ came the voice over the speaker system, still broadcasting. ‘Thought it would make a bigger bang than that.’
    When they got the cow back inside the cabin, she was dizzy from the cold, and was panting and delirious, but they all congratulated her on a job well done, and let her sleep that night in the warm galley, feeding her straw as she lay spread-eagled on the floor.

    ***
‘Got them, Sire!’ said the hive-mind to the Emperor.
    ‘You have the McFadden creature?’ said the Emperor.
    ‘No, Sire. We had to destroy the transporter – they wouldn’t surrender.’
    ‘Bugger it!’
    ‘It was the wisest course of action.’
    ‘But bugger it all the same!’
    ‘It seems you were right though. They were headed directly for Foul Ball.’

Chapter Eight
    There were half a dozen other vessels in the spaceport on Foul Ball - a motley collection of cruisers and caravan ships that stood together on a large landing strip a few miles outside of the capital city, Bartislard.
    Cormack was talking to a couple who had just disembarked. He thought they had said they were from the Outer Hebrides but he might have been mistaken.
    ‘The planet seems surprisingly popular,’ he said, reviewing the crowds. They were dressed in hiking gear, wearing sunglasses and carrying backpacks and what might have been climbing equipment. ‘I wasn’t expecting much, going by the name.’
    ‘It’s become a Mecca for extreme sports enthusiasts,’ said the man, who introduced himself as Frank.
    ‘It’s a back to nature kind of thing. They don’t even allow a uniSwarm connection on Foul Ball.’
    ‘A what?’
    ‘They block everyone’s duct. They like to think they’re fabulously remote here. There’s a kind of snobbism about it. Wonderful wildlife though. That’s the real draw.’
    ‘Is it?’
    ‘Yes. Extreme. Like the sports,’ he said enthusiastically.
    He was helping his wife put together aluminium tubes and fabric sheeting into a kind of tent-like arrangement.
    ‘In fact, we’re planning to glide into Bartislard ourselves,’ he said, and Cormack could see now that what he was working on was the beginnings of a hang-glider. ‘I don’t suppose you’d care to join us? It would be a fun start to the vacation. Get you in the mood for more action when you get into town.’
    ‘Rather not,’ said Cormack.
    Proton was busy organizing what would be his