Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке.(ЛП)

Whoever had written that particular homage had obviously never been inside the Pit Trap, but Dexter Smith, having examined all the other pubs in the area, had decided that it was the best place he had found. For one thing, the door wasn't boarded up and there were no 'Condemned' notices fixed to the wall, which was always a good sign.

He walked inside and was immediately struck by just how dark it was. Empty, too. There were only three other customers there and they were all seated alone. One of them was reading a newspaper from several months ago, while another was huddled shivering next to the heater.

The barman looked up, obviously surprised. "Uh…. my taxes are all paid up," he said. "And I'm a personal friend of Mr. Trace and Mr. Allan, so if you're after any…. trouble, then…."

Smith paused. "Is that the regional variant of 'We don't like strangers round 'ese parts'? I'm just here for a drink."

The barman sighed with relief. "Ah, well then. You're very welcome, sir. I was just…. er…. You can't be too careful in these troubled times."

"Troubled times?" he said, approaching the bar and taking a seat. "I thought things were going well."

"Oh, maybe for those that live up in the better sectors, maybe, but not much changes down here in three-o-one. So, what can I get you, stranger? Oh, where are my manners? Name's Bo."

"Dexter. Um…. what lager do you do? I don't see anything I recognise, but then it has been a while."

"Ah, we do the Pit Bull. A local drink, brewed not far away."

"Really? A bottle of that, then."

"Right you are. Where are you from, then? You don't look like you belong in three-o-one, no offence meant."

Smith took the bottle and sipped it slowly. As Bo had said, you couldn't be too careful, least of all with strange drinks. To his surprise, it wasn't too bad. "Ah, I've been away for the last couple of years. Business of a sort. I recently…. left my old job and decided to come back here."

"You came to three-o-one? That's a pretty unusual choice. Not that I mind, mind." He chuckled mirthlessly. "You know, you look a little familiar. Have I seen you before somewhere? Ah, probably have. Be forgetting my own head next."

"I used to live here, in three-o-one. When I was a child. Tell me, is the Emperor Bibulosstill open? It used to be around here somewhere. A Centauri theme pub. The landlord was a really old guy, grey hair."

"The Emperor? You have been away a long while. It was torn down in the Pit Riots of…. of…. ah when was it? The year after Orion fell, the same year my cat died…. Ah, well. You know when it was. The folks here were a little…. unhappy that winter, and a lot of blame went on the aliens. The Emperorwas a natural target, I guess, so they tore the place down, pretty much. Security restored order, in the end. They waited a bit, but then we're lucky they got here at all, is my way of looking at it. Fair few people up top like who didn't really care about us here in three-o-one."

Smith fell silent, looking at his drink. He'd never known that. Even when he heard about the Pit Riots, it had never sunk in. He had been serving on the Preacherfor a couple of years by that point, before the ship was destroyed at Orion. He'd been stuck in limbo afterwards, like so many Earthforce personnel. He had spent that winter in the barracks at Dome Seven, and news of the Pit Riots had gone straight past him. None of it had connected at all.

"I used to go in there when I was a child," he said. "For the warmth and the company, and to listen to the customers. They told the silliest stories…. I liked all the Centauri decor as well. At the time I thought it was like visiting another world." He shook his head. "Nothing lasts forever."

"Just what I say," added Bo. "You can't take it with you, so why not make the best of it while you can?" There was the sound of the door opening. Smith didn't notice it; he was still staring into his drink, lost in a world twenty years gone. Bo certainly did, though.

"Nelson, my friend. A pleasure to see you again. Your usual, is it? On the house, of course." Bo disappeared behind the bar.

Smith felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder and turned round. A man was there, tall and well-dressed. Next to Smith himself he was probably the best-dressed person in the whole sector. It was a fairly old-fashioned suit, but it was clearly chosen to accentuate his sense of menace. He didn't need it. He looked quite menacing enough as it was.

"A new customer," he said jovially. "How about that, Bo? Your advertising must have worked. Where did you come from, stranger?"

"Here and there," came the reply. Smith found he really did not like this person.

"A comedian. We could do with some entertainment in here. The most we normally get is throwing small change at Jinxo over here and watching him scramble around trying to pick it up. Bo, are you fermenting that drink yourself?"

"Coming right up, Mr. Nelson sir," came the reply from the back of the bar.