"Doesn't do to hang around by that damned beast. Gets its teeth into you and it don't let go. You're safe now. Tavern's that way," he said, pointing down the muddy walkway between the rows of rickety buildings. "Second last on the right. I'll see you there shortly." With that, he was gone.
Davies and Kris turned to Jo. She shrugged and looked down the street.
"We do what the man says. If we do anything else, we'll call more attention to ourselves."
* * *
The tavern was warm. That was where the pluses stopped. A greasy, cloying smoke, mingled with the smell of sour ale, filled the room. They pushed their way through the throng of sweaty, unwashed bodies till they reached the counter. A fat landlord, dressed in stained clothing, directed his serving wenches to the tables.
"What do you want?" he demanded, pausing briefly.
"A room and meals for three, please," said Kris.
"I'll sort the room out later," he said. "Go sit there," he nodded to the far corner where an empty table stood. "What d'you want to eat?"
"Anything. Meat and whatever."
He nodded. "It'll be over shortly. Drink?"
"Three ales."
They headed over to the table, sitting down and looking round at the tavern's other customers.
"They got our clothing right," murmured Jo. "In fact, they seem to have done a very good job."
"When they told us Jalna was backward, I didn't realize how backward they meant," said Davies.
"It's not that bad," said Kris quietly. "Here come our drinks."
The serving girl, resplendent in a stained blouse and an equally stained skirt, pushed her way over to them, throwing comments over her shoulder to the groups of men she passed.
The mugs were banged down in front of them, then she stood with her hand open, waiting.
"You pays for these now," she said.
"How much?" asked Kris.
"Three coppers apiece."
"I've got it," said Davies, digging in his pouch and dropping the money in her none too clean hand.
They were halfway through what proved to be, despite their fears, a palatable stew, when they saw the crew foreman come in and dole out the wages to his men.
"He's heading our way," said Davies. "Now we'll find out what he wants."
"What can you pick up?" Jo asked Kris.
"Not a lot. He keeps his mind quite still. He's suspicious of us, why he isn't sure, but he thinks we can be of use to him," said Kris quietly as the man approached their table.
"My name's Strick," he said, putting his tankard down before joining them at the table. "What they call you?"
"I'm Kris, he's Davey, and she's Jo," said Kris, nodding at each of them in turn. They'd decided there was no need for them to assume other names as their own fitted in with those of the natives.
Strick nodded at them. "You worked for a good four hours each, but the woman wouldn't normally get paid. How about accepting two gold for what you did?"
"Sounds fair to me," said Kris around a spoonful of stew.
Strick reached into his pouch and put two gold coins in front of him. "You planning to work here regular?"
Kris shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Can't say yet. We like to move around."
Strick narrowed his eyes. "You don't have the look of nomads," he said. "From the west, are you?"
Kris hesitated, spoon between his bowl and his mouth. He played his hunch. "No. From the northwest. We're heading back that way."
"Thought you was. Got that look about you. What you doing breaking out of the port?" he asked, taking a swig from his mug. "Most folk want to break in."
"Not us," said Davies. "Like we said, we'd finished the other job and saw you busy, so thought we'd help out and earn a bit extra."
"Uh huh," said Strick, looking from one to the other. "Sure. Well, your business' yours. If you aren't leaving for a bit, let me know. Might be I could use you for work."
"We'll let you know," agreed Kris. "Where can we get hold of you?"
"I bunk here. Foremen are permanent, unless we screw up something. Most men round here just earn money to drink. You, now, you lot're different. Could use folk with brains as permanent staff. Interested?"
"Could be," said Kris. "We got some business to attend to first, but maybe we come back this way."
Strick stood up. "Well, you know where to find me," he said before leaving. They watched him join a group of men at a table near the bar.
"Interesting," said Jo as Kris began to laugh softly.
"What's so funny?" demanded Davies.
"They've got a bloody underground movement against the Port Lord going here! They think we're a unit from another group!" said Kris. "He thinks we were checking the port either to plan a possible raid, or to steal some goods for ourselves."
"They're trying to get the off-world goods distributed more fairly," said Jo.
"You've got it," nodded Kris, leaning toward them. "I also got the impression this Lord allows only his cronies to have trade items from the aliens. He uses the goods to buy their loyalty."
"In which case, that crashed ship should have caused a ripple all the way to here," murmured Jo thoughtfully. "They'll be hoping it was a trade ship, and go looking for off-world goods. So why haven't they sent an expedition from here to the site themselves?"
"That's something we'll need to find out," agreed Kris.
"There's room for a good scam here," said Davies. "If we can persuade Strick to pass us on to any contacts he has in the mountains, then we're laughing."
"And just how are we going to do that?" demanded Jo.
"For a start, we tell him we've got off-world contacts. That we're heading up into the mountains to check this crash out and ..."
"Are you mad?" demanded Jo.
Kris put his hand over hers and squeezed it warningly. "Quiet, Jo. You're drawing attention to yourself! Let's listen to what Davies has to say."
Angrily Jo pulled her hand away from him. "Get on with it, then," she snapped.
"Hell, we just tell them why we're here," said Davies, grinning ingenuously. "We don't tell them we're not from here, but we do say our off-world contacts are prepared to pay for the information about this crashed ship. Naturally if Strick helps us, he'll be well paid too— in whatever goods he wants."
"Don't dismiss it out of hand, Jo," said Kris, looking thoughtful. "Davies' suggestion has got the merit of being simple and believable."
"What do we use to pay Strick? Have you thought of that?" demanded Jo, her voice, though low, intense with anger. "You know you haven't! Why should he believe us? Or help us? We can't prove what we're saying is true!"
"Yes, you can," said Davies, picking up his drink. "If you're not too principled to do it. Use your telepathy to make him believe us."
"We can't do that!" Jo was horrified at the thought.
"There you go, then," said Davies, shrugging. "It's no more than I expected of you, Jo. In this kind of work, you can't afford to have principles."
"You can't violate someone's mind like that, Davies! There have to be limits!"
"Why? We're here to find out what the Valtegan craft was up to, and what we can about the Valtegans themselves! Have you forgotten your time in their pleasure camps on Keiss? The friends they killed? I haven't. I offer you a solution that's quick and easy: you want to reinvent the wheel rather than offend your sensibilities."
Jo opened her mouth to reply but once again, Kris grasped hold of her, this time shaking her arm quite forcefully.
"Stop it, both of you!" he hissed. "This isn't the place for an argument! Jo, sorry, but he's right. We can't afford to follow the Sholan telepath code here. We need to make full use of all our resources, including my Talents."
"And what happens if he decides to turn us in?" de-manded Jo.
"Why should he? If he's that committed to his cause, then he'll welcome us because of our off-world contacts," said Davies.
"He could try to hold us for ransom."
"Agai
n, why? He'd only get a one-time payback. No, it's in his interests to help us and have our contacts in his debt. There's always the chance of more work from them."
"I don't like it!"
"Come on, Jo," said Kris, patting her arm gently. "Look at who they sent on this mission. A known scam merchant ..."
"Thanks, Kris," said Davies.
"... who is also good with electronics, and myself. I never told you much about my background. Let's just say I've been known to run a scam or two in my time," he grinned. "And you, with your experiences on Keiss. If we're being honest, we've been picked for the fact that we can do what it takes to get results. We don't have to like it, we just have to do our job."
Jo sat there, anger boiling inside her. Since Keiss had been liberated by the Sholans, life had changed dramatically for her. Her skills were what mattered now, not her sex. Now she could do the kind of work she loved. She'd hated the Valtegans and their pleasure cities, hated having to go there to spy on them and collect valuable information for the guerrillas. That had all been left behind. She'd been dealing straight with the world— until now.
"We're still fighting the same war, aren't we?" she said bitterly. "Nothing's changed! It's all lies and cheating!"
"The decision's yours, Jo," said Kris quietly. "If you've got a better plan, we'll use it. I don't like the thought of manipulating other people's minds any more than you do, but that's what gives us the edge on the Sholans. We're prepared to use our Talents that way if we need to. They can't because they're conditioned not to right from the start of their training."
"Dammit! All right, we'll use Davies' plan," she muttered. "Go and get Strick."
* * *
Strick followed Davies back to their table, settling himself in the empty chair.
"Said you wanted to talk. What about?"
"Order us some more drinks, Davey," said Kris. "Seems like we might have something in common, Strick."
"Oh? And what would that be?" asked the foreman, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his hand.
"A wish to see free trade established on Jalna."
"Free trade?"
"Look at all the goods that come into the spaceport. Does any of it actually benefit the people? No, most of it goes into the coffers of a few greedy Lords, doesn't it?"
"It's always been that way."
The drinks arrived and Strick accepted his with a nod of thanks. "From the northwest, you said."
"West, actually."
"What really brings you to our parts?" Strick looked round their little group.
Kris sighed. "You got us there," he admitted, gently touching the edges of the foreman's mind with his. "We travel around a lot. Get to know all kinds of folk, some stranger than others, if you know what I mean."
"How strange?" Strick took another swig of his ale, his eyes never leaving Kris' face. "As strange as the Sumaan?"
"At least as strange as them," Kris agreed. Slowly he increased his mental contact, sensing, probing for an area where he could enter unnoticed.
"You weren't working on another ship." It was a statement.
There was a sudden burst of raised voices from the other end of the tavern. Startled, they all looked round, except Kris. With a sure touch, he pushed past the barrier between Strick's surface and deep thoughts. He had the contact he needed.
He relaxed now, waiting for them to turn back to the table. "You're right," he said when they did. "We came in on the Sumaan craft."
Caught as he was taking a drink, Strick began to cough, spilling ale over the table. Solicitously, Jo took his tankard from him and thumped him on the back.
"Enough!" Strick croaked, twisting away from her.
Kris felt his shock, and his almost disbelief.
"Why're you here?" he demanded. "What do you want?"
"We've a job to do," said Davies. "For our contacts."
"The crashed ship."
"That's the one," said Kris, gently steering Strick away from thoughts of contacting his people. "The species that own the craft are warriors. My contacts need information on them. They think the ship can help."
"They want the ship?" Strick was confused. How could the ship help them?
"Not the ship," said Davies. "It has information inside it. We want the information it carries."
Strick was running through the options in his mind. There were quite a few even Kris hadn't considered. Helping them was one. He steered Strick's thoughts gently in that direction.
"If I help, what's in it for me?" he asked at length.
"They'll trade ..." began Davies, but Kris cut him short.
"Medical supplies," he said smoothly.
Strick nodded. "Next to weapons, that's what we need most."
"No weapons," said Kris firmly, reinforcing the negative mentally.
Strick frowned and put his hand to his head, rubbing the side of it.
Kris swore under his breath. Too strong, dammit! He'd noticed. He tried to relax his hold, make it less obvious.
"Something wrong?" asked Jo, shooting an angry look at Kris.
Strick shook his head. "Thought I had a headache starting," he mumbled. "Gone now. Medicines. Yes, we need them. How do I know I can trust you?"
"You're in the port tomorrow, aren't you? I'll give you a code word to give to one of the Sumaan and he'll see you're paid. How you get the stuff out is up to you," said Kris, mentally backing off a little way.
"And in return, you want contacts at Kaladar. I can do that," nodded Strick. "First I want the medical supplies. Once I've got them, then you get my help."
"It's a deal," said Kris.
Half an hour later, they trooped upstairs to their room. The door safely closed between them and the world, Jo threw her kit down on the nearest straw palliasse.
"You overdid it with him," she said, rounding on Kris.
"It's an inexact science, Jo," he said. "We're all still learning how to use it. I didn't intend to hurt the man, believe me. I overdid it because I don't make a habit of using my Talent this way."
"Lighten up, Jo," said Davies, dropping his pack at the end of his straw mattress and flinging himself down on it. "We got the help we needed. All we have to do is hang around tomorrow till Strick comes off duty, then we're on our way." He clasped his hands behind his head, looking up at them. "I reckon you should be thanking Kris. He did a good job, and he convinced Strick not to ask for weapons. Not bad at all, Kris."
"Thanks." Kris knelt down by the remaining mattress and began to unpack his cloak from his kit bag.
"You did all right," said Jo grudgingly as she sat down on her bed. "Staying here an extra day will allow us to shop around for the provisions we need."
Kris made a noncommittal noise as he put his cloak over the mattress.
As the last one to settle down, Davies extinguished the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
Try as she might, Jo couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned restlessly, wishing she was back on board the Summer Bounty again. At least there she could have got up and gone into their common area for a hot drink.
"What's the matter?" asked Kris at last. "Bugs biting?"
"Bugs?" she said. "Don't do that to me, Kris," she said, a note of pleading in her voice. "Tell me you're getting your own back because of what I said about the telepathy earlier, for God's sake!"
"I'm serious," he said. "The cloaks should keep the worst of them away."
She groaned. "I might as well be back on Keiss!"
"Was it bad there?" he asked after a moment.
"What? Keiss?"
"No. The domed cities."
"I never mentioned them!"
"I wasn't prying, Jo," he said quietly, shuffling his bed closer so he couldn't be overheard by Davies. "You were projecting earlier."
"They were bad," she said, her voice taut with remembered pain and lost friends.
"Sorry. I could see how using my Talent on Strick brought it back. Were you close to Elise? She was Carrie's
twin, wasn't she?"
"Yes, she was. Elise and I kept each other sane when I was there." Memories she'd hoped were lost began to return. The clammy feel of Valtegan skin against hers; hands and minds that pawed and took, that couldn't understand any gentler emotions. She shuddered, trying to push them back where they'd come from.
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