This colorful, action-packed space opera tells of rival factions, including Earthmen and an enigmatic and fanatical Venusian, who voyage through space in a race to find the derelict ship of an ancient civilization, a Venusian Elder Race.
Release date:
April 30, 2014
Publisher:
Gateway
Print pages:
99
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The thin man with the pitted face and foul breath leaned forward with a leer. “Wanta buy an audio?”
“No.”
“Somethin’ special. Listen!” He thumbed a switch on a small box half hidden in one hand. A woman’s voice, soft, intimate, caressing, whispered from the instrument. She breathed warm, sensuous words, and they were utterly obscene. He snapped it off. “Cheap to you, and extra recordings at cost.”
“No.”
“I could get you a viso. Cost more though.”
“Not interested.”
The thin man glowered. “Hell man! What do you want?”
Brett Landry lit a slim cigarette, inhaled, sent twin streamers of smoke through narrow nostrils. The tobacco spluttered a little in the thin, dry air. He didn’t answer.
The thin man leaned closer. “Look,” he whispered. “Why don’t you buy the audio? If you’re bound for the Asteroids you could get treble its value.” He snickered. “Those miners are woman starved. They’d go for it in a big way.”
Brett made an impatient gesture.
“If there’s anythin’ else you want,” the man said urgently. “A shot of dope? Women? Anythin’ at all?”
“Could you find a man?”
“A man? Sure.” He leered understandingly, then changed his mind at the expression on Brett’s face. “If he’s in Marsport I’ll find him. What’s he like?”
“Big. Broad. A scar on the left cheek. Red hair. Just under six feet tall. Used to be called Red Murphy. Know him?”
A veil dropped across bloodshot eyes. “Maybe.”
“Get him. It’s worth a ten.”
“Who wants him?”
“Tell him a proposition.”
“What’s the name of this proposition?”
“A hundred just to listen.”
The pitted face leaned closer, the foul breath eddying between them. “For twenty it’s a deal.”
“Get him.”
Half hidden in the booth he sat and waited. A tall man, slender, with the easy carriage that betrayed hidden strength. Black hair swept back from a high forehead. Cold black eyes stared from either side of a thin prominent nose. A firm chin jutted beneath a savage mouth utterly devoid of humour. Nothing about him told of anything but complete calm, but his eyes were never still.
He watched the thin man as he left the dive. Noticed the brief aside to the bartender. Saw the covert glances thrown in his direction. Without surprise he saw a woman approach his table.
She was tall, still slender. Heavy make-up and the dim lights gave her a spurious air of youth and charm. Cheap jewellery glittered at wrist and throat, her fingers were bare. She smiled down at him.
“Lonely?”
“No.”
Unabashed she slipped into a seat beside him. “Buy a girl a drink?” A waiter sidled closer.
“Colan. Double.”
“Yes miss. Two?” He glanced at Brett.
“Make it two.”
He sat silent until the drinks arrived. Paid. Tipped the waiter, and sat with the drink untouched before him.
“What’s the matter?” The woman leaned closer to him, the low-cut front of her gown exposing a generous expanse of heavily powdered skin. “It won’t hurt you.”
“No?”
“Of course not,” she drained her glass. “Come on honey, drink up. My name’s Nora. What’s yours?”
“Call me Brett,” he picked up the glass and sipped delicately. “You work here?”
“If you can call it work.” Nora shrugged, and looked suggestively at her empty glass. “You’re a stranger here aren’t you? Where’re you from?”
He sat toying with the drink, not answering. From the field at the edge of town, a muffled roaring vibrated the thin metal walls of the dive. It whined, screamed, died into quivering silence. The woman made a choked sound.
“The Earth rocket,” she muttered. “Those lucky dogs. Going home,” she dabbed at her eyes.
Brett smiled without humour, and snapped his fingers at the hovering waiter. “Bring a bottle of the stuff. Unopened.”
The man looked doubtfully at the woman. “I don’t think …” he began, when Brett cut him off.
“Get it. I’ll pay her commission, but remember. I want to see the seal intact,” he smiled at Nora. “What will I owe you?”
“I get twenty per cent,” she admitted calmly. “I figured you good for at least a ten.”
He nodded, remained silent as the bottle was placed before him, examined the seal, and dropped money onto the table. With a twist of his slim fingers he opened the bottle, poured her glass full, and flinging away the contents of his own, refilled it.
He sipped, tasted, and emptied the glass in a single swallow. “I’ll give you treble that, if you tell me what I want to know.”
“And that is?”
“Where can I find Red Murphy?”
Behind him someone laughed. Brett spun, one hand slipping beneath his short jacket.
A man stood there. A big man, with a flaming shock of red hair. A dirty shirt strained across a barrel chest, ragged trousers flapped around sturdy legs. A livid scar marred the smooth roundness of his left cheek. He held a dust mask in one hand, and his clothes and skin were stained with sand. Beside him, the pitted faced man held out a dirty paw.
“I got him. Give me the money.”
Brett nodded, dropped a note into the clutching hand. “Beat it,” he snapped. He threw money at the woman. “You too.”
“Say!” she protested indignantly. “Is that a way to treat a lady?”
He didn’t bother to answer, but something in the cold stare, the set of the cruel mouth, stopped the words in her throat. Flushing, she scooped up the money, returned to the bar. The two men were left alone.
Brett gestured towards the empty seat. “I’ve been looking for you, Red. For a long time now I’ve been looking.”
The big man slumped into the chair and reached for the bottle. “And now that you’ve found me. What?”
Brett leaned forward across the table. “Are you still the same man Murphy? The man that I knew on Io? Or have you softened, lost your guts?”
The big man breathed deeply. The hand holding the bottle tightened, the knuckles showing white beneath the pressure. On his cheek the scar stood like an angry welt.
“Careful Landry. Watch your tongue,” his voice was thick with passion.
Brett grinned mirthlessly. “Lift that bottle and I’ll kill you. You’ve answered my question. For a while I was afraid that maybe you’d slipped, taken to peddling filth like the rest of this scum. It seems that you haven’t. Well?”
Murphy sighed, slumped a little, poured drinks. His hand trembled slightly, sending a tiny puddle of the green liquor rilling over the table. “A lot’s happened since I saw you last, Brett. How long has it been? A year? It seems longer.” He touched his cheek. “After that trouble on Io I had to get out fast. A skipper I know let me ship without papers,” he snorted. “It cost me all I had. He dumped me at Marsport, I’ve been working on the field since then. Filling up blast pits. A sandhog! The bottom of the barrel!”
He drank greedily, the glass hidden in his giant hand. Tilting the bottle, he looked appraisingly at Brett, “What happened to you?”
Brett shrugged, lighting a fresh cigarette. “I had a little money, played it smart.” He grinned. “You took all the blame. I drew a six month sentence on the Asteroids. I guessed you’d headed for Mars. I followed, been looking for you since I landed. Now I’ve found you.”
“Yeah,” breathed Red softly. “You always were smart, Brett. I might have known that you’d put the blame on me.” Anger thickened his tones. “Now I suppose I’m wanted for murder.”
“Not murder, Red,” protested Brett. “Self defence. The other man drew first, all they want you for is a little matter of undeclared contraband,” he shrugged. “A mere formality.”
“A formality carrying a five year penalty,” Red grunted. He slopped the last of the liquor into his glass, squinted at the bottle, flung it aside in a burst of temper. At the sound of the shattering glass, the bartender looked up, glowered, approached menacingly.
“What goes on?”
“What’s it to you?” Red snarled. He staggered from the chair, swayed, slumped back. Brett watched him curiously.
“What’s the matter, Red? Drunk?”
“Drunk or not, he can’t smash my bottles, they cost too much. Get him out of here.” The bartender clenched beefy fists.
“Hold it!” Brett snapped. He flung money onto the table. “Take the damage out of this. Bring food.” He bent over the table, slapped the scarred cheek. “Snap out of it, Red. Get a grip on yourself. Here!” He spilled tablets from an inner pocket. “Swallow these.”
By the time the food had arrived, Red had sobered up. He shuddered as he looked at the greasy mess slapped before him. Gingerly he tasted it, then began to wolf the food voraciously. Brett watched him, smoking silently. The air murmured to the sound of blasting venturis, as a rocket settled on jets of flame. Red gestured with his spoon.
“I should be out there. This’ll cost me my job.”
“Some job!” commented Brett drily, “when you can’t afford to eat.”
“It’s not that.” Red pushed aside the empty plate. “I’ve been trying to get a stake,” he grinned ruefully. “The dice ran against me.”
“As bad as that eh?”
“As bad as that,” Red agreed. He took the proffered cigarette, inhaled gratefully. “When you take a sandhog’s job, you’ve reached bottom. The dust gets into your lungs, kills you in time. The pay is too small to do more than exist on,” he shrugged. “A dead end. The cops know it, they never ask questions.” He looked curiously at Brett. “Why did you look me up? What do you want?”
“You.”
The big man frowned in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes. You were a navigator once weren’t you?”
“Sure.” Murphy grinned. “Before I got big ideas and tried that smuggling business on Io. Why?”
Brett studied the spluttering tip of his cigarette. “Ever hear of the Melik Skalad?”
Red snorted. “Who hasn’t? The Eldorado of Venus. The natives are full of it. It’s just a pipe-dream.”
“Maybe. M. . .
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