He had enough to discuss the state of the galaxy with whoever led or spoke for the smugglers. Evidently that person was Jon Wild. Sten had conjured many pictures of what a master smuggler might look like, from a grossly overdressed and overfed sybarite to a slender fop. He did not expect a man who looked as if he would be most satisfied working in Imperial Long-dead Statistics.
Nor had he expected that Wild's headquarters would resemble a dispatch center. From appearances, the smuggler chief would have been a most satisfactory number two for Tanz Sullamora's trading empire.
Wild had offered alk to Sten and Alex and seemed unsurprised when it was refused. He sipped what Sten surmised to be water, taking his time in his evaluation.
"You wish to trade," he finally said. "For what?"
"You saw my ship."
"Indeed. It appeared most efficient."
"Efficient, but not very comfortable."
"Doesn't Admiral van Doorman supply you properly?" Wild asked with buried amusement. Sten did not bother answering.
"What gives you the impression," Wild continued, "that I might be of help?"
Sten wasn't interested in fencing. He handed over the manifest riches from the smuggling ships he had seized. Wild put them into a viewer, then took his time responding.
"Let us assume that I had something to do with these shipments," Wild said. "And let us further assume that in some manner I could provide equivalent resupply for your ships, Commander. Briefly—how much of a rake-off are you looking for?"
Kilgour bristled. Sten put a hand on his arm.
"Wrong, Wild. I don't give a damn about your smuggling."
"Uh oh."
"My turn now. I've seized your cargoes just to make sure you weren't moving arms or AM2 into the Tahn worlds. You aren't."
Wild seemed honestly shocked. "One thing I am most proud of, commander. I have no truck with war or its trappings. But if I can manage to provide, for people who have the means to pay for it, some small items that make life more convenient, without forcing my customers through the absurdity of customs and thou-shalt-nots... I will pursue the matter."
"Thank you, Sr. Wild. We'll be equally frank with you."
Sten and Alex's plot was fairly simple. They had monitored the smugglers' movements long enough to show that the same ships were coming in and out. Therefore, these smugglers had orbits plotted that did not intersect the intense Tahn patrols. Since they were not trading in guns or fuel, Sten wasn't bothered—obviously the Tahn would be forced to pay with hard credits, credits that would not be spent on their own worlds. Slight though it probably was, this might marginally unsettle the Tahn currency base.
Sten's proposal was most simple—he would like any military information that Wild's men and women came up with. In exchange, so long as they held to the no-war-stuff policy, he would leave them completely alone.
Wild shook his head and poured himself another glass of water. "I don't like it," he said.
"Why not?"
"Nobody's that honest."
Sten grinned. "I said we'd like to trade for good things, Sr. Wild. I didn't say that we'd strike an honest bargain."
Wild relaxed in relief. "I, of course, will have to discuss this with my captains."
"Best y' be doin't it w' subtlety, Wild," Kilgour said. "If y' leak to the Tahn, an' we get ambushed..."
"You may assume subtlety, Warrant Officer," Wild said. "I have been smuggling for half a century, and, thus far, no one has gotten closer to my operation than you two." He stood. "I do not foresee any difficulties from my officers," he finished. "Now, would you care to examine my orbit plots so we may determine the most logical meeting places?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"Ah think were a wee bit lost, young Sten."
"This is clottin' ridiculous. We both aced navigation school. How can we be lost three klicks outside the base? Lemme look at the map again."
Sten and Alex pored over the map of Cavite City one more time. The other members of the Claggett's crew hovered nearby, trying not to laugh too obviously at their superiors.
"Okay, one more time," Sten said. "South on Imperial Boulevard."
"We done tha'."
"Left at Dessler."
"Check."
"Then right at Garret."
"We bloody done tha' too."
"Now we should see a skoshie little alleyway about halfway down Garret. The alley cuts straight through to Burns Avenue. That's the theory, anyway."
"Tha be'it a rotten theory. Tha's nae such street!"
The problem they were having was that Cavite's street system was as much of a warren as ancient Tokyo. To compound their difficulties, half the street signs had been obliterated or ripped out by roving street gangs.
Their journey had started out innocently enough. Sten had decided to reward his people for all their hard work by treating them all to a big bash of a dinner. He had told them to pick out any place at all, and hang the expense. He was mildly surprised when the vote came in. Almost every crew member had elected to chow down at a Tahn restaurant. In particular, they picked the Rain Forest. It was an out-of-the-way little spot that boasted the spiciest Tahn food in the city.
Sten had no objection, but he was curious. "Why Tahn food? What's wrong with the native stuff?"
He was greeted with a chorus of "bleahs," which he took to mean that the best of the native fare boarded on bland greasy. So, the Rain Forest restaurant it was. Sten and his crew had some last-minute refitting to do aboard the Gamble, so the plan was for the others to go ahead, to be met at the restaurant later.
Sten was shocked when they reached the center of the city. Imperial started out as a broad, clean street that wound past high-class shops, hotels, and gleaming business offices. Then it became what could best be described as a war zone. The street itself was pitted with gaping holes.
Half the shops were either boarded up or burned out. The hulks of abandoned vehicles lined either side of the street. The few people they saw—except for the seven-man squads of cops in full riot gear—were furtive things that scurried into dark corners when they spotted the Gamble's crew.
"What the clot's going on here?" Sten wanted to know.
Foss, who had been out on the streets of Cavite a great deal more, explained. When the Tahn had started beating their war drums, it had made the locals as nervous as hell. First a few, then a flood began fleeing, leaving their businesses and homes abandoned. Unemployment had become fierce, which had led to a booming membership in street gangs. The Tahn section of the city, moreover, had become an embattled slum ghetto, at the mercy of Tahn-bashing gangs.
"You mean that's where this restaurant is? Smack dab in the middle of a riot area?"
"Something like that, sir."
"Clotting wonderful. Next time we eat bland and greasy."
But there was nothing else to do but press on, following the map that the security guard at the base gate had said was AM2 bulletproof. Sten was now thinking fondly of what strings he could pull to bust that clotting guard down to spaceman second.
Sten shoved the map back at Alex. "We must have taken a wrong turn," he said. "There's only one thing we can do. Go all the way back to Dessler and start again."
Everyone groaned.
"They'll have eaten all the food by the time we get there," Foss said. Then he remembered himself. "Begging your pardon, sir."
"What other choice do we have?"
"Ah could alw'ys tell tha spotted snake story," Kilgour offered. "Just ta keep our spirits up, like."
Before Sten could strangle Alex, a joygirl came around the corner. She was dressed in one of the dirtiest, most revealing costumes Sten had ever seen. Also, unlike the other people they had seen so far that night, she didn't seem to have a drop of fear in her blood. Her walk was cool and casual. She was also wearing, Sten noted, an enormous pistol around her waist.