Part 15 (1/2)

Taking his time, he finished his gla.s.s of Martian water, then swaggered across the crowded room to the table.

Tom glanced up casually and then turned to his companion at the table.

”This is my skipper,” he said. ”Name's Steve. You gotta job to do, Steve'll do it. Anything, anywhere, any time,” he paused, and then added with a smirk, ”for a _price_!”

The scar-faced man looked up at Steve. His eyes traced a pattern over the tall man, noting the broad shoulders, the piercing eyes, and the bulge of a paralo-ray gun in his jacket. He pushed a chair back with a foot and managed a smile in spite of the scar that twisted his features into an ugly mask. ”Sit down, Steve. My name's Pete.”

Strong accepted the invitation silently. At close range, he saw the man was more disfigured than he had noticed from the bar. The scar on his face reached from his left ear across his cheek and down to his neck.

Pete saw him looking at the scar and smiled again. ”Funny thing about scars. I got one, but I don't have to look at it. I just stay away from mirrors and I remember myself as I was before I got it. So look all you want. You're the one that's got to suffer for it.”

Ignoring the man's bitter tone of voice, Strong growled, ”I'm not interested in what you look like. You got something to haul; we got a s.h.i.+p to haul it. Name your cargo and destination, and we'll name a price.”

”Ain't as simple as that,” said Pete craftily. ”I gotta know more about you before we talk business.”

”What for instance?” asked Strong.

”For instance, who do you know on s.p.a.ceman's Row that can give you a reference?”

Tom spoke up quickly without looking at Strong. ”Suppose I told you I helped pull a job a couple of weeks ago that was worth a hundred thousand credits?” He settled back, casually glancing at Strong and receiving an imperceptible nod in return.

”A hundred thousand, eh?” said Pete with interest. ”Not bad, not bad.

What kind of a job was it?”

”Me and two other guys held up the Credit Exchange at the Solar Exposition at Venusport.”

”Oh?” Pete was becoming extremely curious. ”You in on the job too, Steve?”

Before Strong could answer, Tom spoke quickly. ”No, I bought a half interest in Steve's s.h.i.+p with my share of the take.” Strong could hardly keep from smiling, so easily was the young cadet's tale growing.

”Then who _was_ in on this job with you?” persisted the scar-faced man.

”You look pretty young to pull a big job like that.”

Tom glanced around the room and then leaned over the table before whispering, ”Gus Wallace and Luther Simms.”

”What?” exclaimed Pete. ”Gus Wallace? A guy about six feet tall and two hundred pounds? Has a heavy rough voice?”

”That's the one,” said Tom.

Pete's arm shot across the table like a snake and he grabbed Tom by the jacket. ”Where is he?” he asked through clenched teeth.

No sooner had Pete touched Tom than Strong had his paralo-ray gun leveled at the scar-faced man. ”Take your hands off him,” he said coldly, ”or I'll freeze you right where you are!”

Pete relaxed his grip and settled back into his chair. He glared at Tom and then at Strong.

”All right,” snapped Strong. ”Now _you_ talk!”

Pete didn't say anything. Strong inched closer to the scar-faced man menacingly. ”I said _talk_! Why do you want to know where Gus Wallace is? Maybe you're Solar Guard, eh? Trying to play a little trick on us.

How do I know you haven't got a squad of MP's outside waiting to pick us up?”