Star Ways Poul Anderson

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He guided her to a public aircar station, gave one of the vehicles some of his scanty Union credit notes,
and told Ilaloa how to direct it. She wouldn't have far to go to reach a completely untenanted area, and
they would meet again at the station.
She kissed him, laughing aloud, and slipped into the car. Woods colt, he thought. He didn't dare
consider if it would go with Ilaloa as it had gone . with his settler wife.
I'?n going to get drunk, be thought.
He walled swiftly until he was in the old section of town. Nobody stood on the law in that place. The
native quarter was there, a result less of discrimination than of choice. The natives were friendiy enough,
but didn't feel comfortable in a human district. Tall bipedal beings, greenfurred and four-armed, watcbed
Sean out of expressionless golden eyes as be strode under trees and through barriers of flowering vines,
Machines were not in evidenice, except for a wooden cart drawn by one of the six-leiged "ponies" of
Nerthus.
The Comet Bar stood on the edge of the quarter, a small low-ceilinged structure where grass and
pavement met. Sean walked in. A couple of colonists were drinking beer at a corner table; otherwise the
place was deserted. Sean dialed for whiskey surrogate at the bar and sat down. He didn't want silence.
The door opened for a newcomer, admitting a brief sunbeam into the twilight of the room. Sean looked
idly at the man. The fact of his being from Sol was plain from his dress: knee breeches and hose, loose
tunic, light shoes, featberweight mantle with hood, all in subdued blues and grays. But it was the easy
strength of him that stood out
most.
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He caught Sean's gaze and, after getting a drink from the dispenser, walked over and sat down beside
the Nomad. "Hello," be said. The accent was unmistakable. "Don't see many of you fellows around."
"We come in now and then," grunted Sean.
"I've been in Stellamoit for a couple of weeks," said the stranger. "Business, of sorts. But it's all wound
up and I feel like celebrating. I wonder if you could recommend some good uninhibited places?"
"What business would a Solman have out here?" asked Sean.
"Research," said the Terrestrial. "Yes, you might call it that." He chuckled to himself and held out a pack
of cigarettes. "Smoke?"
"Ummm-thanks." Sean took one and inhaled fire into it. Tobacco was expensive on the frontier; only the
Earthgrown plant seemed to have the right flavor.
Sean wondered if it was true what they said about the exagerated Solarian notions of privacy, decided
to find out. "What's your name?" he asked. "Can't just call you Solman."
"Oh, vou can if vou insist, but the name is Trevelvan Micah. aid yours?" His black eyebrows lifted
courteously.
"This one is called Peregrine Thorkild Sean. You could read the first two off my outfit if you knew the
symbols. Also rank, ensign; and service, flier pilot and gunner."
"I didn't know you Nomads were organized so formally."
"It doesn't mean anything except in a fight." Sean drained his glass, tossed it down the nearest chute,
and dialed for another.
"I see. Interesting. Ordinarily, though, vou're traders?"
"We're anytliing, friend. We can't make all we use or want-at least it isn't our way-so we float around,
buy something cheap here, swap it for something else there, and finally sell what we have for Union
credits. Or we might work a mine or something for a while ourselves, though usually we get the natives
thereabouts to do it for us."
Trevelyan smiled. "Allow me." he bought the Nomad another drink. "Do go on. I've often wondered
why your people choose to lead such a hard and rootless life."
"Why? Because we're Nomads. That's enough."
"MMMMM-hm." Trevelyan grinned. "That reminds me of one time in the Sirian system-" He told an
anecdote, and they started trading stories. Trevelyan drank in moderation; even so, his tongue began
slipping a little.
"How about some solid fuel for a change?" he suggested at last.
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"You're in your right orbit now," said Sean, speaking with elaborate precision. "But let's go where there's
some life."
"Just as you say," responded Trevelyan amiably. They bad dinner in a small and noisy tavem which was
beginning to fill up as the sun declined. Trevelyan kept making clumsy passes at the owner, a pneumatic
human female. There was almost a fight, and they were frigidly escorted to the door.
"You're a good sort," said Sean, laughing. "A proper fellow, Micah."
"Electron shells," said Trevelyan owlishly. "We're only a pair of little electrons, jumping from shell to
shell."
They went down the street, stopping in most of the bars that lined it. They were in a dim and smoky
underground room when Trevelyan put his head on his aims, giggled stupidly, and went Iiinp. Sean sat for
a moment, blinking across the table at the man, wondering what to do.
"That will be four credits sixty," said a voice from high above. Sean saw a bearded giant with an
uncompromising look about him. "That's your score, 'less you want something else."
"Uh-no." Sean felt in his pouch. Empty.
"Four credits sixty," said the giant.
"M' frien's got it." Sean shook the unstirring Solarian. The shoulder was hard under his fingers, but 'the
dark head rolled lax on the folded arms. Sean looked at the blurred form of the denkeeper, considered,
and reached the triumphant answer.
He leaned over the table and groped in the Solarian's bip pocket until the leatheroid was in his hand. It [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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