The Quillian Sector

Inas was the local agent, a Hausi, his dark face adorned by the pattern of his beard. He touched Jumoke's palm, nodded to the woman, stared at Dumarest.

"Our replacement for Gresham," she explained. "Any news?"

"With the sun the way it is?" Inas lifted his eyebrows. "You know better than that, my dear. We can hope for nothing until the activity dies and even then the messages will have to be decoded. You?"

"Nothing but static all the way." Jumoke stepped back and made way for the agent to enter the ship. "Anything good for us?"

"A party for Ellge. They wait in town. Interested?"

"We could be, if the price is right and nothing better turns up. Still, that's up to the captain. He's in the salon with a bottle. Wait a moment and I'll take you up." He turned to look at the others. "Remember what I said now, be careful."

A warning Dumarest intended to heed. Even as they crossed the field he could sense the invisible energies prickling his skin despite the protective mesh in his clothing, the gray plastic he had chosen to wear rather than his uniform. It was more comfortable, offered better protection and the knife in his boot was a sign most would recognize and be warned..

Dilys said, "How many worlds have you visited, Earl? I don't mean called at like this, but actually lived on for a while. A dozen? A score?" She turned her head to look at his face. "More than that?"

"I forget."

"You didn't keep count?" She saw him smile and realized she was talking like an impressionable child. Well, he had impressed her, damn him! "I suppose after the first dozen they all begin to look the same. Like women. Isn't that so, Earl? Isn't that what most men think?"

"I don't know what most men think, Dilys."

"You must have heard them talk. Boast, even. About all cats being grey at night. Men!"

He said mildly. "Are they like that? Men, I mean. Don't they all begin to act and sound and look alike after the first dozen or so?"

"How should I know?"

"You're a woman-"

"But not a whore!" Then, as she looked at him, her anger vanished and she smiled. "All right, Earl, you win. I should know better than to talk like that. In our game, we're all the same. Sex makes no difference; we work together, take the same risks and share the same rewards."

"You really believe that?"

"Of course. Why do you ask."

He moved on, not answering, wondering if she was being deliberately obtuse; if any woman with her degree of femininity could ever delude herself that she was regarded as other than what she was. If so, Jumoke could educate her; the man was obviously in love with her. A love which he seemed to contain, to hold in private, as if to expose it would be to destroy it. A weakness, perhaps, but some men were like that; fearing to lose all if they hoped to gain too much.

"Mister!" A man, young, barely more than a boy, came running toward them, his eyes on Dumarest. "You the handler on that ship? Can you give me passage? Please, mister, can I ride with you?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere. Just as long as I get away from this place. Hell itself, if that's where you're going. It can't be worse than Vult."

Dilys said, "We can carry you if you've got the price. Have you?" She shook her head as he mentioned what he had. "It isn't enough for a High passage, but we could take you if you're willing to ride Low."

"No!" Dumarest was sharp. "No!"

"Why not?"

"You heard what I said." He took her arm and pushed her past the youngster, who stared after them with sunken, desperate eyes. "Don't argue with me. Not in public. Not before that boy."

She said nothing until he had led her into a tavern and had ordered drinks. They were tart, strong, arriving dewed with condensation and tinkling with ice.

Looking at her glass, Dilys said, "Why, Earl?"

"Why am I buying you a drink? Let's just say that I like you and want to be friends."

"I'm talking about that boy out there. You turned down a chance to make a profit. Why?"

He said flatly, "Carry that boy and you'd arrive with a corpse. He hasn't the fat on him to survive. He hasn't the strength. He's starved too long and worked too hard to get a stake and, if we take it from him, we'll be taking his life."

"A chance he's willing to take, Earl." She was stubborn. "A chance you've no right to stop him taking."

"Have you ever ridden Low?" The flicker of her eyes gave him the answer. "No. Have you ever opened a casket and seen someone lying dead? I thought not. You wouldn't like it if you did. You'd like it a lot less if you knew, when you put him into the box, that you were putting him into a coffin. Believe me, girl, I'm trying to save that boy's life."