Star Hunter

  2

  The Starfall was a long way down scale from the pleasure houses of theupper town. Here strange vices were also merchandise, but not suchexotics as Wass provided. This was strictly for crewmen of the starfreighters who could be speedily and expertly separated from avoyage's pay in an evening. The tantalizing scents of Wass' terraceswere reduced here to simply smells, the majority of which were notfragrant.

  There had already been two fatal duels that evening. A tubeman from arim ship had challenged a space miner to settle a difference withthose vicious whips made from the tail casings of Flangoid flyinglizards, an encounter which left both men in ribbons, one dead, onedying. And a scarred, ex-space marine had blaster-flamed one of theStar-and-Comet dealers into charred human ash.

  The young man who had been ordered to help clear away the second loserretired to the stinking alley outside to lose the meal which was partof his meager day's pay. Now he crawled back inside, his facegreenish, one hand pressed to his middle section.

  He was thin, the fine bones of his face tight under the pallid skin,his ribs showing even through the sleazy fabric of the threadbaretunic with its house seal. When he leaned his head back against thegrime encrusted wall, raising his face to the light, his hair had theglint of bright chestnut, a gold which was also red. And for hisswamper's labor he was almost fastidiously clean.

  "You--Lansor!"

  He shivered as if an icy wind had found him and opened his eyes. Theyseemed disproportionately large in his skin and bone face and were ofan odd shade, neither green nor blue, but somewhere between.

  "Get going, you! Ain't paying out good credits for you to sit therelike you was buying on your own!" The Salarkian who loomed above himspoke accentless, idiomatic Basic Space which came strangely frombetween his yellow lips. A furred hand thrust the handle of a mop-upstick at the young man, a taloned thumb jerked the direction in whichto use that evil-smelling object. Vye Lansor levered himself up thewall, took the mop, setting his teeth grimly.

  Someone had spilled a mug of Kardo and the deep purple liquid wasalready patterning the con-stone floor past any hope of cleaning. Buthe set to work slapping the fringe of the noisome mop back and forthto sop up what he could. The smell of the Kardo uniting with thegeneral effluvia of the room and its inhabitants heightened hisqueasiness.

  Working blindly in a half stupor, he was not aware of the man sittingalone in the booth until his mop spattered the ankle of one of thedrinking girls. She struck him sharply across the face with asputtering curse in the tongue of Altar-Ishtar.

  The blow sent him back against the open lattice of the booth. As hetried to steady himself another hand reached up, fingers tightenedabout his wrist. He flinched, tried to jerk away from that hold, onlyto discover that he was the other's prisoner.

  And looking down at his captor in apprehension, he was aware even thenof the different quality of this man. The patron wore the tunic of acrewman, lighter patches where the ship's badges should have been toshow that he was not engaged. But, though his tunic was shabby, dirty,his magnetic boots scuffed and badly worn, he was not like the othersnow enjoying the pleasures of the Starfall.

  "This one--he makes trouble?" The vast bulk of the Vorm-man who wasthe Starfall's private law moved through the crowd with sereneconfidence in his own strength, which no one there, unless blind,deaf, and out-of-the-senses drunk, could dispute. His scaled,six-fingered, claw hand reached out for Lansor and the boy cringed.

  "No trouble!" There was the click of authority in the voice of the manin the booth. His face, moments earlier taut and sharp withintelligence, was suddenly slack, his tone slurred as he answered:"Looks like an old shipmate. No trouble, just want a drink with an oldshipmate."

  But the grip which had pulled Vye forward, swung him around and downon the other bench in the booth, was anything but slack. The Vorm-manglanced from the patron of the Starfall to its least importantemployee and then grinned, thrusting his fanged jaws close toLansor's.

  "If the master wants to drink, you dirt-rat, you drink!"

  Vye nodded vigorously, and then put his hand to his mouth, afraid hisstomach was about to betray him again. Apprehensive, he watched theVorm-man turn away. Only when that broad, green-gray back was lost inthe smoky far reaches of the room did he expel his breath again.

  "Here--" The grip was gone from his wrist, but fingers now put a muginto his hand. "Drink!"

  He tried to protest, knew it was hopeless, and used both hands to getthe mug to his lips, mouthing the stinging liquid in dull despair.Only, instead of bringing nausea with it, the stuff settled hisstomach, cleared his head, with an after glow with which he managedto relax from the tense state of endurance which filled his hours inthe Starfall.

  Half of the mug's contents inside him and he dared to raise his eyesto the man opposite him. Yes, this was no common crewman, nor was hedrunk as he had pretended for the Vorm-man. Now he watched the millingcrowd with a kind of detachment, though Vye was sure he was aware ofevery move he himself made.

  Vye finished the liquid. For the first time since he had come intothis place two months earlier he felt like a real person again. And hehad wits enough to guess that the potion he had just swallowedcontained some drug. Only now he did not care at all. Anything whichcould wipe out in moments all the shame, fear, and sick despair theStarfall had planted in him was worth swallowing. Why the other haddrugged him was a mystery, but he was content to wait forenlightenment.

  Lansor's companion once more applied that compelling pressure to theyounger man's bony forearm. Linked by that hold they left theStarfall, came into the cooler, far more pleasant atmosphere of thestreet. They were a block away before Vye's guide halted, though hedid not release his prisoner.

  "Forty names of Dugor!" he spat.

  Lansor waited, breathing in the air of early morning. The confidenceof the drug still held. At the moment he was certain nothing could beas bad as the life behind him, he was willing to face what thisstrange patron of the Starfall had in mind.

  The other slapped his hand down on an air-car call button, stoodwaiting until one of the city flitters landed on beam before them.

  From the seat of the air-car Vye noted they were heading into therespectability of the upper city, away from the stews ringing thelaunch port. He tried to guess their destination or purpose, not thateither mattered much. Then the car descended on a landing stage.

  The stranger waved Lansor through a doorway, down a short corridorinto a room of private quarters. Vye sat down gingerly on the foamseat extending from the wall as he neared. He stared about. Dimly hecould just remember rooms which had this degree of comfort, but sodimly now he could not be sure they did not exist only in his vividimagination. For Vye's imagination had buoyed him first through thedrab existence in a State Child's Creche, then through a state-foundjob which he had lost because he could not adapt to the mechanicallife of a computer tender, and had been an anchor and an escape whenhe had sunk through the depths of the port to the last refuge in theStarfall.

  Now he pressed both his hands into the soft stuff of the seat andgaped at a small tri-dee on the wall facing him, a miniature scene oflife on some other planet wherein a creature enveloped in short blackand white striped fur crept belly flat, to stalk long-legged,short-winged birds making blood-red splotches against yellow reedbanks under a pale violet sky. He feasted on its color, on the senseof freedom and off-world wonders which it raised in him.

  "Who are you?"

  The stranger's abrupt question brought him back, not only to the roombut to his own precarious position. He moistened his lips, no longerquite so aglow with confidence.

  "Vye--Vye Lansor." Then he added his other identification, "S. C. C.425061."

  "State child, eh?" The other had pushed a button for a refresher cup,then was sipping its contents slowly. He did not ring for a second tooffer Vye. "Parents?"

  Lansor shook his head. "I was brought in after the Five-Hour Feverepidemic. They didn't try to keep records, there were too many of u
s."

  The man was watching him levelly over the rim of that cup. There wassomething cold in that study, something which curbed Vye's pleasantfeeling of only moments earlier. Now the other set down his drink,crossed the room. Cupping his hand under Lansor's chin, he brought uphis head in a way which stirred a sullen resentment in the youngerman, yet something told him resistance would only bring trouble.

  "I'd say Terran stock--not more than second generation." He wastalking to himself more than to Vye. He loosed his hold on the boy'schin, but he still stood there surveying him from head to foot. Lansorwanted to squirm, but he fought that impulse, and managed to meet theother's gaze when it reached his face again.

  "No--not the usual port-drift. I was right all the way." Now helooked at Vye again as if the younger man did have a brain, emotions,some call on his interest as a personality. "Want a job?"

  Lansor pressed his hand deeper into the foam seat. "What--what kind?"He was angry and ashamed at that small betraying break in his voice.

  "You have scruples?" The stranger appeared to think that amusing. Vyereddened, but he was also more than a little surprised that the man inthe worn space uniform had read hesitancy right. Someone out of theStarfall should not be too particular about employment, and he couldnot tell why he was.

  "Nothing illegal, I assure you." The man crossed to set his refreshercup in the empty slot. "I am an Out-Hunter."

  Lansor blinked. This had all taken on some of the fantastic aura of adream. The other was eyeing him impatiently, as if he had expectedsome reaction.

  "You may inspect my credentials if you wish."

  "I believe you," Vye found his voice.

  "I happen to need a gearman."

  But this wasn't happening! Of course, it couldn't happen to him, VyeLansor, state child, swamper in the Starfall. Things such as this didnot happen, except in a thaline dream, and he wasn't a smoke eater! Itwas the kind of dream a man didn't want to wake from, not if he wasport-drift.

  "Would you be willing to sign on?"

  Vye tried to clutch reality to himself, to remain level-headed. Agearman for an Out-Hunter! Why five men out of six would pay a largepremium for a chance at such rating. The chill of doubt cut throughthe first hazy rosiness. A swamper from a port-side dive simply didnot become a gearman for a Guild Hunter.

  Again it was as if the stranger read his thoughts. "Look here," hespoke abruptly. "I had a bad time myself, years ago. You resemblesomeone to whom I owe a debt. I can't repay him, but I can make thescales a little even this way."

  "Make the scales even." Vye's fading hope brightened. Then theOut-Hunter was a follower of the Fata Rite. That would explaineverything. If you could not repay a good deed to the one you owed,you must balance the Eternal Scales in another fashion. He relaxedagain, a great many of his unasked questions so answered.

  "You will accept?"

  Vye nodded eagerly. "Yes, Out-Hunter." He still could not believe thatthis was happening.

  The other pressed the refresher button, and this time he handed Lansorthe brimming cup. "Drink on the bargain." His words had the ring ofcommand.

  Lansor drank, gulping down the contents of the cup, and suddenly wasaware of being tired. He leaned back against the wall, his eyesclosed.

  Ras Hume took the cup from the lax fingers of the young man. So far,very good. Chance appeared to be playing on his side of the board. Ithad been chance which had steered him into the Starfall just threenights ago when he had been in quest of his imposter. And Vye Lansorwas better than he dared hope to find. The boy had the right coloring,he had been batted around enough to fall for the initial story, he wasmalleable now. And after Wass' techs worked on him he would be RynchBrodie--heir to one-third of Kogan-Bors-Wazalitz!

  "Come!" He touched Vye on the shoulder. The boy opened his eyes buthis gaze did not focus as he got slowly to his feet. Hume glanced athis planet-time watch. It was still very early; the chance he must runin getting Lansor out of this building was small if they went at once.Guiding the younger man with a light hold above the elbow, he walkedhim out back to the flitter landing stage. The air-car was waiting.Hume's sense of being a gambler facing a run of good luck grew as heshepherded the boy into the flitter, punched a cover destination andtook off.

  On another street he transferred himself and his charge into a secondair-car, set the destination to within a block of the address Wass hadgiven him. Not much later he walked Vye into a small lobby with adiscreet list of names posted in its rack. No occupations attached tothose colored streamers Hume noted. This meant either that theirowners represented luxury trades, where a name signified theprofession or service, or that they were covers--perhaps both. Wass'world fringed many different circles, intermingled with some quitesurprising professions dedicated to the comfort, pleasure or health ofthe idle rich, off-world nobility, and the criminal elite.

  Hume fingered the right call button, knowing that the thumb patternhe had left on Wass' conference table would have already been relayedas his symbol of admission here. A flicker of light winked below thename, the wall to the right shimmered, and produced a doorway.Steering Vye to it, Hume nodded to the man waiting there. He was aflat-faced Eucorian of the servant caste, and now he reached out todraw Lansor over the threshold.

  "I have him, gentlehomo." His voice was as expressionless as his face.There was another shimmer and the door disappeared.

  Hume brushed his hand down the outer side of his thigh, wiping fleshagainst the coarse stuff of the crew uniform. He left the lobbyfrowning at his own thoughts.

  Stupid! A swamper from one of the worst rat holes in the port. Like asnot that youngster would have had his brains kicked out in a brawl, orbeen fried to a crisp when some drunk got wild with a blaster, beforethe year was out. He'd done him a real kindness, given him a chance ata future less than one man in a billion ever had the power to evendream about. Why, if Vye Lansor had known what was going to happen tohim, he would have been so willing to volunteer, that he would havedragged Hume here. There was no reason to have any regrets over theboy, he had never had it so good--never! There was only one smallperiod of risk for Vye to face. Those days he would have to spendalone on Jumala between the time Wass' organization would plant himthere and the coming of Hume's party to "discover" him. Hume himselfwould tape every possible aid to cover that period. All the knowledgeof a Guild Out-Hunter, added to the information gathered by thesurvey, would be used to provide Rynch Brodie with the trainingnecessary for wilderness survival. Hume was already listing the itemsto be included as he strode down the street, his tread once moreassured.