"If there's a load to be found in a tavern then he'll find it," said the steward. "He got us a few crates of machine patterns-you'll have to check the temperature of those- strain-impressed molecular structure designs in a protoplas shy;mic gel. And he managed to pick up some new sonic drill recordings."
"Speculative buying," said Dumarest. "Just the sort of thing a drunk would find himself landed with. Anything concrete in the nature of paying freight?"
"Not as yet," said Lin reluctantly. "But don't get the wrong impression about Claude. He may appear to buy wild, but the things he gets have value in the Web. Ships aren't frequent out there, don't forget, and we call at a lot of minor worlds. I've known us to make a 1,000 percent profit on stuff you wouldn't look at twice on a planet like Aarn."
"All right," said Dumarest. "I'll take your word for it."
"They're good," insisted the boy. "Odd, maybe, but good. You just don't know."
Dumarest smiled. "I'm a little edgy and maybe too criti shy;cal. You know them better than I do. How long before we leave?"
The steward glanced at his wrist. "A couple of hours. Nimino will be back a good hour before then. Like to make a little bet?"
"Such as?"
"Even money that Claude doesn't come back empty-handed. Five stergols. Is it a bet?"
"It's a bet." Dumarest looked around the cabin. "Now, maybe, you'd better leave me to check my gear."
Alone, he tore the photographs from the walls, frowning at the lighter patches they left behind. A cabinet held a uniform and a suit of rough, protective clothing such as was worn by field loaders. Both were in stretch material, neither were as clean as they could have been. The uniform cap was battered, the visor cracked, and the sweatband stained and thick with grease. The late handler had not been a finicky man.
Other cabinets showed a pile of books in plain covers.
Dumarest flipped one open and listened to the soft ob shy;scenities whispering from the illustrated pages. Both voice and moving illustrations died as he closed the book and reached for another. They were all of the same type. A stack of recordings held cazenda music. A three-dimensional jig shy;saw lay in scattered pieces beside a chessboard and men. The pieces were of lambent crystal, intricately carved and of obvious worth. The board was an electronic instrument for the replaying of recorded games. A box held a few items of personal significance: a ring, a locket containing a curl of hair, a certificate issued by the medical council of Octarge, a pair of dice fashioned from animal bone, scraps and frag shy;ments of a man's entire life.
Dumarest looked further. A small compartment held a hypogun-the butt worn and the instrument almost cer shy;tainly poorly calibrated. Boxes held ampules of drugs which could be blasted by air pressure through clothing, skin, and fat directly into the bloodstream; quicktime, slowtime, anti shy;biotics, compounds for the relief of pain, the bringing of sleep, and the ease of tension. A shabby case held gleaming surgical instruments, and a thick book was an illustrated medical manual. Obviously, on this vessel, the handler was expected to double as physician.
Taking a handful of disposable tissues, Dumarest soaked them with sterilizing solution and swabbed the neck, wrists, and crotch of the uniform and protective clothing. Taking fresh tissues he wiped the sweatband of the uniform cap until it was free of dirt and grease.
Satisfied, he stripped off his tunic. The light from the over shy;head glowtube shone on the hard whiteness of his skin, throwing thin lines of scar tissue into prominence over chest and arms. The hilt of a knife showed above the waistband of his pants, the nine-inch blade gleaming as he threw it beside the tunic on the bed. The pants followed, and he stood naked aside from snug shorts.
Dressed in the uniform, he took up his own things, folded them, and stuffed them into a cabinet. Carefully he adjusted the uniform cap until the cracked visor shielded his eyes and then, after a final inspection, left the cabin and made for the section of the ship which was his responsibility.
Like the cabin, it was as he'd expected. The banks of sterilizing ultraviolet lamps showed dark patches where units needed replacing. The caskets in which livestock were transported showed obvious signs of lengthy disuse, and several of the cargo restraints were inoperative. He paused beside the crates of machine patterns, checking the temperature against the thermostat setting. There was a three-degree difference on the wrong side and he changed the setting hoping that the cargo had not suffered damage.
Thoughtfully he made his way to the salon. Here the passengers, if any, would spend their recreational time- which meant all of it on short journeys-drawing their ra shy;tion of basic from a spigot on the wall. That, at least, was functioning as it should and he drew a cup of the thick mixture, sipping the warm compound of glucose, protein, and vitamins as he studied the furnishings.
"Pretty rough, aren't they?" Dumarest turned and looked at the man who had silently entered the salon. He was middle-aged, his face thin beneath his uniform cap, his eyes startlingly direct. The insignia on collar and breast was that of a navigator. "My name's Nimino." He held out his hand. "You're Earl Dumarest. The captain told me we had a new handler. Welcome aboard."
His handclasp was firm, the skin dry and febrile. "Well, what do you think of the Moray?"
She was a bad ship in bad condition. Five men were too few to crew such a vessel, small though she was. Main shy;tenance suffered and the outward dirt was a sure sign of inner neglect. Dumarest took another sip of basic and said, "I've seen ships in worse condition."
"In a scrapyard," agreed Nimino. "So have I. But as operating vessels in space?" He shrugged. "There could be worse tucked away in some forgotten corner of the galaxy, but I doubt it. Certainly there are none in the Web. Each time we commence a journey we take a gamble with death and our profit, if any, is earned with tears of blood."
"Then why stay with her?"
"Why not? If death is waiting to claim a man-what dif shy;ference where he may be? And then again, my friend, per shy;haps, like you, I have little choice." The navigator glanced at the cup in Dumarest's hand. "Hungry so soon?"
"No."
"The habit of a traveler then," said Nimino, smiling. "Eat while there is food available for you never can be certain as to when you may have the opportunity to eat again. If nothing else, Earl, it tells me what you are."
Dumarest finished the contents of the cup and dropped it into the receptacle provided. "And you?"
"I am a weird, didn't Lin tell you that? I believe that there is more to the scheme of things than a man can per shy;ceive with his limited senses. Electro-magnetic radiation for example. Can a man see infrared or ultraviolet? Tell the presence of radio waves, of magnetism, of the ebb and flow of the energies of space without mechanical aid? Of course not. And yet still men deny that there could be higher realms of existence than those we know. You are interested in such things?"
"No."
"Then you also think that I am a weird?"
"I don't give a damn what you are," said Dumarest blunt shy;ly. "Just as long as you're a good navigator."
Nimino laughed. "At least you are honest, my friend. Have no fear, I know my trade. And I know the Web, which is a thing few men can say without boasting. As long as the generators do not fail, I can take the Moray where we want her to go. Unless fate decides otherwise," he added. "Against fate what chance has limited man?"
"In my experience those who talk of fate usually do so to provide themselves an excuse for failure," said Dumarest. The banality of the conversation was beginning to annoy him. The navigator's place was on the bridge, for until he gave the word the ship could not leave. "And it is wrong to rely on superior powers. Even if they existed, it would be wrong. Wrong and foolish. I do not think you are a foolish man."
"And I do not think you are wholly what you seem." Nimino smiled again, his teeth flashing in the cavern of his mouth, startlingly white against the rich darkness of his skin. "Certainly you are not a common traveler, and few handlers trouble themselves with philosophical concepts. But enough of this wrangling. We are shipmates for good or ill and we both have our duties. Until later, my friend. I anticipate many pleasant hours."
Fifty-seven minutes later they left Aarn, rising on the magic of the Erhaft field from the ground, through the at shy;mosphere, and up into space where their sensors quested for target stars.
Twenty-six minutes after that, Dumarest paid five stergols to the steward.
Lin had won his bet. Claude had found them a passenger.
II
he was a round, sleek, yellow-skinned man of indeterminate age, who smiled often and spoke at length. Gems glittered on his pudged hands and soft fabric of price clothed his rotund body. His hair was a cropped stubble on the ball of his skull and his eyes, slanted like almonds, were as watchful as a cat's. His name was Yalung and he claimed to be a dealer in precious stones.
Dumarest thought about him as he worked on the caskets. Carefully he checked each connection and tested each seal, measuring the degree of chill established by the refrigera shy;tion, counting the seconds as the eddy currents warmed the interior of the coffin-like boxes. Several times he made adjustments, knowing that a human life could depend on his skill. Animals had a wider tolerance than men, but animals did not always fill the caskets.
Claude entered the region as Dumarest straightened from the last of the caskets.
"All finished?"
"Yes." Dumarest handed the engineer the meters he had borrowed. "I'll check the rest of the equipment later. Can you make some more restraints for the cargo?"
"Why bother? We don't carry much and what we do won't come to any hurt."
"Can you make them?"
"Later." The engineer leaned against the curved metal of the wall and blinked his bloodshot eyes. He had been drink shy;ing and his broad, mottled face was heavy with the red mesh of burst capillaries. "You worry too much, Earl. Elgart never used to worry like you do."
"Maybe that's why he's dead," said Dumarest dryly.
"He died because he was a perverted swine," said Claude dispassionately. "I've no objection to a man being a lecher, but he was worse than that. Once when we carried some animals he-well, never mind. He's dead and good rid shy;dance. Like a drink?"