Star Hunter | Page 5

con-stone floor past any hope of cleaning. But he set to work slapping the fringe of
the noisome mop back and forth to sop up what he could. The smell of the Kardo uniting
with the general effluvia of the room and its inhabitants heightened his queasiness.
Working blindly in a half stupor, he was not aware of the man sitting alone in the booth
until his mop spattered the ankle of one of the drinking girls. She struck him sharply
across the face with a sputtering curse in the tongue of Altar-Ishtar.
The blow sent him back against the open lattice of the booth. As he tried to steady
himself another hand reached up, fingers tightened about his wrist. He flinched, tried to
jerk away from that hold, only to discover that he was the other's prisoner.
And looking down at his captor in apprehension, he was aware even then of the different
quality of this man. The patron wore the tunic of a crewman, lighter patches where the
ship's badges should have been to show that he was not engaged. But, though his tunic
was shabby, dirty, his magnetic boots scuffed and badly worn, he was not like the others
now enjoying the pleasures of the Starfall.
"This one--he makes trouble?" The vast bulk of the Vorm-man who was the Starfall's
private law moved through the crowd with serene confidence in his own strength, which
no one there, unless blind, deaf, and out-of-the-senses drunk, could dispute. His scaled,
six-fingered, claw hand reached out for Lansor and the boy cringed.
"No trouble!" There was the click of authority in the voice of the man in the booth. His
face, moments earlier taut and sharp with intelligence, was suddenly slack, his tone
slurred as he answered: "Looks like an old shipmate. No trouble, just want a drink with
an old shipmate."
But the grip which had pulled Vye forward, swung him around and down on the other
bench in the booth, was anything but slack. The Vorm-man glanced from the patron of
the Starfall to its least important employee and then grinned, thrusting his fanged jaws
close to Lansor's.
"If the master wants to drink, you dirt-rat, you drink!"
Vye nodded vigorously, and then put his hand to his mouth, afraid his stomach was about
to betray him again. Apprehensive, he watched the Vorm-man turn away. Only when that
broad, green-gray back was lost in the smoky far reaches of the room did he expel his
breath again.
"Here--" The grip was gone from his wrist, but fingers now put a mug into his hand.
"Drink!"
He tried to protest, knew it was hopeless, and used both hands to get the mug to his lips,
mouthing the stinging liquid in dull despair. Only, instead of bringing nausea with it, the
stuff settled his stomach, cleared his head, with an after glow with which he managed to
relax from the tense state of endurance which filled his hours in the Starfall.

Half of the mug's contents inside him and he dared to raise his eyes to the man opposite
him. Yes, this was no common crewman, nor was he drunk as he had pretended for the
Vorm-man. Now he watched the milling crowd with a kind of detachment, though Vye
was sure he was aware of every move he himself made.
Vye finished the liquid. For the first time since he had come into this place two months
earlier he felt like a real person again. And he had wits enough to guess that the potion he
had just swallowed contained some drug. Only now he did not care at all. Anything
which could wipe out in moments all the shame, fear, and sick despair the Starfall had
planted in him was worth swallowing. Why the other had drugged him was a mystery,
but he was content to wait for enlightenment.
Lansor's companion once more applied that compelling pressure to the younger man's
bony forearm. Linked by that hold they left the Starfall, came into the cooler, far more
pleasant atmosphere of the street. They were a block away before Vye's guide halted,
though he did not release his prisoner.
"Forty names of Dugor!" he spat.
Lansor waited, breathing in the air of early morning. The confidence of the drug still held.
At the moment he was certain nothing could be as bad as the life behind him, he was
willing to face what this strange patron of the Starfall had in mind.
The other slapped his hand down on an air-car call button, stood waiting until one of the
city flitters landed on beam before them.
From the seat of the air-car Vye noted they were heading into the respectability of the
upper city, away from the stews ringing the launch