Crashlander

«You might find traces of him on the island, but I doubt it, Ander. I think Feather dumped him in the hopper for biomass. The closest you'll get to any remains of Carlos Wu is right here.» He didn't understand. I stretched my arms, flexing my still not quite familiar body. «Not the fish, Ander. Me.»

«Stet. Which island?»

«On another matter,» I said. «Carlos Wu's experimental autodoc is a very valuable item. I propose to sell it to you.»

Ander studied me, mildly amused. His hands wandered into pockets and came out with a silver match and a box of fat green cigars. He said, «Your bargaining position isn't that terrific.»

Was he really going to fire up that thing? Tobacco, it had to be tobacco.

I tore my eyes off his hands. «Cheap,» I assured him. «I can't touch it myself, after all, and you can't afford to lose it. Look at me! That thing rebuilt me from a severed head!»

«Buying up your trash is not exactly in my job description.»

«I'll sell you the location. You collect it and do with it as you will. One hundred thousand stars.»

Ander smiled at the number, conveying that it was too high even to be funny. He said, «They wouldn't let me smoke on the ship. Want one?»

«No,» I said, watching all my problems solve themselves. Well, half my problems. I could run clear off the planet while Ander worked at getting himself out of a cell. But he'd chosen the wrong restaurant, and I didn't believe it, anyway. He'd delayed too long; his body language was wrong.

I said, «Wait up. Don't light that.»

He sat there with the cigar poking out of the center of his grin. «I thought you'd let me do it.»

I said, «I toyed with the notion. If it was just a matter of you going to jail, Ritz, that might improve my leverage. I could make you an offer you couldn't walk away from.»

«You used to have the tobacco habit yourself.»

«But I gave it up to make Sharrol happy, and tanj if my sense of taste didn't come back. Ander, put those things away. Pacifica is a big spaceship.»

«Make you nervous?»

«Ander, don't tease the kzinti.»

The breath caught in his throat. The match and cigar disappeared with minimal motions of his hands. Then his head turned casually.

They looked at him, three big males with glossy orange coats and carefully closed mouths. Looked away again. They weren't doing anything threatening. Maybe they hadn't even noticed. Riiight. Kzinti living in Pacifica might never have smelled tobacco, but any who had would not forget.

Ander seemed calm, almost sleepy, except that his breathing was a little ragged and there was sweat trickling down his neck. The cigar had been for my benefit, but he really hadn't noticed the kzinti. Mankind had claimed this world, hadn't we? Kzinti didn't belong here, did they?

He sought the thread of conversation. «You don't know where Feather Filip is, and you last saw the magical autodoc a year and a half ago.»

«Exactly. I don't know that Feather hasn't been watching for me to come back and get it. There were lamplighter islands in line of sight. She could be watching for me with a pair of mag specs.»

«Or she could be anywhere on Fafnir. But if I find her, she can take me to the island.»

I kept silent.

«I can reach some funds. Tell you what,» Ander said. «Take my entire expense credit. Five thousand and change. I'll have to live on credit till Sigmund can send me more.»

«No, no, Ander. I want a hundred thousand.»

«I'd have to beam Sigmund. I'd have to tell him what it is for. Where does that leave me?»

«Tell him I want two hundred thousand. Keep half yourself.»

«Beowulf, what you have to sell is a tool that's been left under seawater. The technology is in records left behind by Carlos Wu.»

«Did he leave records of his research? You don't know that. Encrypted? You don't know. I don't, either. Could the Fafnir government get the techniques by studying the autodoc itself? We don't know.»

Ander laughed at that. «What are you going to tell the Fafnir bureaucrats? You stand five ten, maybe, but you can produce records that show you seven feet tall? Records can be faked, Beowulf. I'm your only customer.»

This was fun. I had his attention, finally. «What if we take a stunted kzinti — there are a few — and skin him, and before he suffers too much trauma, we shove him in Carlos Wu's 'doc. Would it rebuild him into a passable human? A perfect spy?»

He guffawed. «That is really ridiculous.»

«Oh, maybe. But there are wealthy kzinti families on Fafnir.»

«They don't know how tall you used to be, either! Anyway, dealing with kzinti is crazy dangerous. Beowulf, I've got nearly six thousand, and you can have it all. Otherwise you'll have to wait while I tell Sigmund Ausfaller what you're selling, and Sigmund makes a counteroffer, and you settle, and he finally sends credit, all by hyperwave across ten light-years. And if I find Feather while you're waiting, you get nothing.»

«Good enough. Tell him two hundred thousand stars —»

«One.»