by Mick Farren
Phaid hid his remaining money under the mattress, placed his fuse tube under the pillow and tossed his bag into the closet. Wearily, he climbed up into the top bunk and lay back, staring at the grey metal ceiling. There was nothing else to do until the big machine got underway. After his night with the boohooms, Phaid welcomed the chance to simply stretch out and let his mind go blank.
He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when the cabin door slid open with a crash. Phaid sat bolt upright, cracking his head on the ceiling in the process.
'Shit!'
'Did I startle you, friend?'
'Damn right you did.'
'Sorry about that.'
'So you damn well . . .'
Phaid cut the sentence dead. He had taken his first good look at the newcomer, and the newcomer was huge. He was at least a head taller than Phaid and almost twice as broad. His flaming red hair was cropped close to his skull, but his beard was full and luxuriant, framing a leathery, weatherbeaten face and a pair of penetrating blue eyes that Phaid would not have cared to meet across a gaming table.
The man's dress completely complimented his image of strength and menace. His dark brown leather tunic was reinforced with copper studs larger than Phaid's thumb. His green, coarsely woven breeches were tucked into fur boots held together with criss-crossed thongs. An antique blaster with delicate tracery on the long barrel and a carved, opalescent handle hung in a well worn holster on a finely tooled but very old leather belt.
Heavy bronze bracelets clamped round both wrists marked him as one of the wild clanfolk from the mountain passes of the far north. A snake tattoo that coiled around one of his bare forearms indicated that, among his clan, he was one of the warrior caste. A number of old scars also indicated that in his case, warrior wasn't just a honorary title.
The clansman's outfit was completed by a longhaired animal pelt, probably that of a grey lupe, thrown around his shoulders and a shapeless hide bag hung over his arm.
Phaid sighed inwardly, this was all he needed. It was bad enough having to share the tiny cabin at all, but having to share it with a hulking semi-savage was pushing crowding to the limit. For the thousandth time he cursed the run of ill luck that had forced him to leave the Republic.
The clansman threw his bag into the closet, beside Phaid's, then he unbuckled his belt and blaster and dropped them on to the lower bunk. He gave Phaid a brief, inspecting glance.
'The name's Makartur.'
'Phaid.'
Phaid noticed that Makartur didn't have the usual, thick, guttural accent of the mountain clans. This, in itself, wasn't all that unusual. Life was hard in the north and many of them took to wandering. This one probably hired out as a mercenary and was travelling in search of a couple of city states who were busy having a war and who might be willing to buy his services.
Makartur sat down on the bunk with a grunt and started unlacing his boots.
'Where you headed, Master Phaid?'
'I get off at Wad-Hasa Wells.'
Makartur stretched out and grunted some more.
'No money, huh?'
Phaid leaned over the side of his bunk with a look of surprise on his face.
'What?'
'You've got to be running out of money if you're going from Freeport to Wad-Hasa Wells, and probably running, too. It stands to reason.'
Phaid was starting to get just the slightest bit alarmed.
'It does?'
Makartur laughed.
'Don't worry yourself, manny, I'm not interested in what you may or may not have done, but riding a crawler from Freeport to Wad-Hasa Wells ain't no vacation.'
'You know this place?'
Makartur shook his head.
'I've never been there, but I can imagine. It's probably the first water after you leave the gale plains. My guess is that it's nothing more than an oasis, a few buildings and a market place where the herdsmen from the surrounding desert come in to trade their stock.
Phaid scowled.
'It sounds desolate.'
'More than likely.'
'Ain't that always the way of it.'
Makartur raised a bushy eyebrow.
'You look put out.'
'You can say that again. I'm on my way to the Republic. I hoped I'd be able to build up another stake in this Wad-Hasa place to make it the rest of the way. How the hell can you do that at a goddamn waterhole.'
Makartur grinned.
'You'll probably find yourself some honest work if you look hard enough.'
Phaid grimaced.
'Sure. Just dandy.'
The clansman's grin broadened.
'I wouldn't worry about it too much, manny. If it's any consolation, I'm in the same predicament.'
'You're going to Wad-Hasa too?'
'I don't have the cash to go any further.'
'So where do you want to get to in the end?'
'The Republic, same as youself.'
Phaid was surprised.
'You're going to the Republic?'
He couldn't imagine what this hulking brute would want there.
Makartur's voice sharpened.
'You can think of a reason why I shouldn't?'
Phaid was quick to placate.
'No . . . no.' He made his tone light and conversational. 'What are you going to do when you get to the Republic?'
Makartur allowed himself a measured pause before he answered. 'I'll probably be minding my own business, the same as I do in most other places.'
That killed the conversation stone dead. Phaid found himself swamped by an awkward silence. Fortunately it didn't last too long. There were a number of dislocated throbs from deep within the crawler. After a while they formed into a regular pattern, speeded up and finally blurred into a single, continuous hum. The metal frame of the crawler ground and shrieked its protest as the power was transferred to the huge driving tracks. Finally the crawler lurched, swayed and started forward. Phaid propped himself up on one elbow.
'It looks like we're underway.'
Makartur didn't seem particularly interested. Outside the crawler, however, unknown to Phaid and Makartur, a small crowd had gathered to watch it move off. No matter how many times an individual had seen one of these giant machines come to life, only one with a very impoverished soul could fail to be impressed. The throb of its engines could be felt through the ground. Sheets of pale fire played around the discharge stacks high on the rear end of the machine. The massive tracks churned up the earth and gradually, almost impossibly, the towering structure of steel and ceramic lumbered forward, very slowly gathering speed.
High up in the steerage class the lumber, swaying and continuous throb of the engines weren't impressive. They were simply an irritation. They made relaxation difficult and sleep elusive. No conversation was forthcoming from his travelling companion, and Phaid decided to investigate such meagre amusements as the crawler might have to offer.
He knew that down in the first-class saloon there'd be the clink of quality glassware, the rustle of silk and velvet. Liveried waiters would be serving the best cuisine that the android cooks could prepare. Most galling of all for Phaid was his knowledge that large sums of money would be changing hands across the elegant gaming tables.
Phaid, of course, like all the others travelling cheap rate, was barred from the first-class areas. All that was available to him was the junk food, cheap liquor and rough company of the steerage canteen. Even that, though, was better than just lying in his bunk. Surreptitiously he extracted a couple of twenty tabs from beneath his mattress. He swung his legs over the side and dropped to the floor.
'I think I'll go down to the canteen and see what's going on.'
'Aye.'
'You fancy coming too?'
Makartur shook his head.
'No, manny, I'll just rest here for a while. There's nothing like a wee bit of privacy.'
Phaid slid open the cabin door but paused at the sound of Makartur's voice.
'Oh, manny?'
'I wouldn't worry about your money so much. Keep it under the mattress if you want to, but I'm not about to steal it.'
Phaid reddened. He was taken completely by surprise.
'Uh . . . yeah, thanks.'
'You're welcome.'
Phaid thoughtfully closed the door and started down the corridor following the signs to the canteen. It was beginning to seem as if his temporary room mate was something more than a musclebound roughneck.
Once in the canteen, Phaid did his best to forget about the strange character sharing his cabin. Not that the canteen had all that much to offer in the way of distraction. Two elderly vending machines dispensed food and drink. A musical android, even more decrepit than the one in The Rising Sun, played tunes that were scarcely recognisable over the noise of the crawler's engines. Beyond that, there was just some plain, very functional chairs and tables. Steerage passengers were expected to make their own entertainment.
Phaid bought himself a stiff drink, and, remembering that he had yet to eat that day, a bowl of unidentifiable mush that was touted as healthy and nutritious. Settling himself at an empty table, Phaid surveyed the room.
Nearest to him, three shabby old men in long black cloaks held a mumbled discussion of what sounded to Phaid like a combination of religion and the local politics from a region he'd never heard of. Next to them, a worn looking couple tried to control a pair of boisterous children. A group of dull-eyed men in desert robes supped ale and, as was their custom, chewed on the narcotic leaves of the dog gold plant.
More to Phaid's liking was the small group of farm boys and wanderers who hunched round a table playing a game of pit and pass with the usual set of multicoloured beads. Once Phaid had finished his food, he sauntered casually over to the game and watched for a while. When a short, bald man was busted out and forced to leave the game, Phaid nodded towards the empty chair.
'You mind if I sit in for a while?'
A buck toothed kid in a farmhand's homespun shirt grinned up at him.
'Didn't turn out too lucky for the last guy who sat there, but if you wants to then I guess you's welcome.'
After about an hour, Phaid had turned a modest, but honest profit. It was almost a relaxation for him to play a straight game without having to create an edge for himself by any sleight of hand or other adjustments. Despite the constant bumping and swaying of the crawler, Phaid was in fine spirits as he got up from his chair and strolled over to the drink vendor.
A skinny girl with dark straggling hair and a dirty face, was leaning beside the machine. As Phaid was inserting his money into the slot she caught his eye with a direct, almost challenging look.
'Hi.'
Phaid punched out his selection. Her loose sleeveless jacket, baggy trousers and flat broken down shoes told him she was probably a boat kid on the run from home. He grinned at her.
'Hi yourself.'
'You want to buy me a drink, huh?'
Phaid raised an amused eyebrow.
'Who says I can afford to buy you a drink?'
'I've been watching you. You been doing all right in that game over there. You've got the price of a couple of drinks and maybe a bit more.'
Phaid opened the dispensing hatch and took out his order.
'And who says I want to?'
The girl thrust out one narrow hip and pouted.
'If you want to be cheap, I'll have to go find someone else. There's plenty of others who'd like to spend some time with me.'
'If I buy you a drink, I get to spend some time with you, do I? Is that the deal?'
'Are you laughing at me?'
'Would I do a thing like that?'
The girl's face turned hard.
'Do I get that drink or don't I?'
Phaid grinned.
'If it means that much to you, sure.'
Phaid pushed some more money into the slot.
'What do you want?'
'Same as you.'
He punched up the selection and handed the girl her glass.
'You want to sit down?'
'Sure, why not.'
She led the way to a table away from the other passengers. Phaid followed. Once they were seated, she hardly glanced at him and made no attempt at any sort of conversation. Phaid looked at the girl quizzically and then decided to ignore her strange behaviour.
'You going far?'
'As far as I can. I only had enough money to make it to the first stop.'
'Wad-Hasa Wells?'
'That's the place. You know what it's like?'
'Not much, from what I've heard.'
'Just my typical stinking luck.'
'You're not the only one.'
'You can't afford to go any further either?'
'You said it.'
'Tough.'
'I'll make out.'
'You will? What do you do?'
Phaid shrugged.
'I guess you could say that I'm a gambler.'
'You do well at that?'
'It depends on how your luck's running.'
'And it ain't running too well at the moment?'
'That's a fact.'
'You going to buy me another drink?'
Phaid raised an eyebrow.
'Did my time run out already?'
'If you think of it that way.'
'You're kind of expensive.'
'No I ain't.'
'No?'
'You can have me for a ten tab.'
'I think you better say that again.'
'You get a kick from hearing it? You can have me for a ten tab. That's if you like girls.'
Phaid leaned back in his chair and looked at the girl carefully.
'Sure I like girls.'
'So?'
'So ain't you a little young to be doing this kind of thing?'
'Young?'
The girl laughed bitterly.
'I've been doing this for as long as I've been able. My stepfather started me at it.'
'Your stepfather.'
'The third husband of my mother. You know what it's like on the boats?'
Phaid thought of R'Ayla and nodded. A perverse idea nudged his mind but he rejected it. It would be too much of a coincidence. He let the girl go on.
'He beat me until I was old enough to use then he beat me and used me. When we were in port he'd even sell me to some of the sailors he knew. My mother didn't stop him. She had the boat to run and she liked a quiet life. When I tried to stab him she dumped me over the side.'
The girl sounded bitter enough for Phaid to actually believe her, but he shrugged. What could he do. He had heard enough hard luck stories from whores, both senior and junior. The world moved in disastrous patterns. What was he supposed to do about it?
'Growing up can be a difficult business. If you expect to get slapped in the face you don't generally come in for a lot of disappointment.' The girl scowled.
'I've had worse than slaps in the face.' Phaid sighed.
'I believe you. Do you want another drink?' If the girl was really set up to go whoring she would have to do something about her grim self pity, otherwise she would be strictly limited to clients who liked to get depressed. She was staring insolently at him. 'Sure, I'll take one.'
Phaid went over to the vending machine again and fetched two more drinks. The girl swallowed half of hers in one gulp and then looked him straight in the eye. 'So?'
'So what?'
'Are you stupid or something? You can't be very good as a gambler. It's no wonder you're travelling steerage. Are you going to lay down a ten tab to roll me in bed or not? I need to know. I can't afford to spend the night talking.'
She tilted her head as though challenging him. Phaid was getting a little tired of her efforts to prove how tough and hard-boiled she was but, on the other hand, he hated to refuse a challenge. He pulled out a ten tab and tossed it onto the table. 'Let's go.'
The girl was suddenly in action. A skinny hand snatched up the money. She seemed afraid that he
might change his mind and take it back.
'You want to go to your cabin?'
Phaid shook his head.
'I'm sharing.'
'We'd better go to mine. I've got it all to myself.'
'You're lucky.'
The girl's face twisted.
'Really lucky.'
Phaid had the feeling that he was making a mistake but he stood up anyway.
'What's your name?'
'You can call me Sarli.'
'Whatever.'
The cabin was identical to his. Except, of course, there wasn't some red-bearded man-mountain asleep in the lower bunk. There were no preliminaries and precious little conversation. She rapidly shucked off her clothes and lay down on the narrow bunk with her legs slightly spread and her eyes tightly shut. She waited with scarcely concealed impatience for him to take what he wanted. Without her clothes she was skinny almost to the point of emaciation. Her breasts were small and hard, but had surprisingly large nipples. Her skin was pale, the unhealthy sort of pallor of someone who lives by night and rarely sees the sun. Her face, once she had lain down, became set in a totally blank expression, as if the real her was somewhere else entirely. She smelt as though the last time she had bathed had been some while ago, and although Phaid didn't really like to admit it, the only possible thrill was definitely perverse.
Phaid took his time stripping off his own clothes. He wasn't sure he even wanted to do what he was doing. Being unable to think of anything with more finesse, he crawled on top of her and, since she still showed no response whatsoever, he thrust himself roughly inside her. She was so completely inert that Phaid soon started feeling like a pig wallowing or a rapist having his own way with a passively resigned victim. He found neither particularly exciting.
Mercifully, it was soon over. The bunk was too narrow even for the very minimum tenderness of lying side by side for a while. Phaid climbed off the bunk and straigntned up. He was starting to feel thoroughly disgusted with himself. As he picked up his shirt, the girl suddenly opened her eyes.
'If you want to go again, it'll cost you another ten.'
