Lallia

"And lost his profit." Lallia shrugged. "All right, Earl, you're the boss. Now for God's sake, let's get a drink."

They found a tavern, bright with tinsel, glowing with luminous paint and throbbing with interior noise and laugh shy;ter. Claude came lurching through the door as they ap shy;proached. The engineer's face was blotched, his eyes glazed, the front of his uniform stained with wine. He swayed and recovered his balance with a visible effort. Wine gur shy;gled from the bottle he held in his hand, drenching his chin and adding to the wetness on his chest.

"Earl!" He gestured with the bottle. "My old friend! Have a drink."

Dumarest took the bottle and held it to his closed lips. "Thanks."

"And you?" The engineer almost fell again as he leaned to stare at Lallia. "Who are you?"

She raised her mask and reached for the bottle. "Who do you think, you drunken idiot? Do you imagine I'd let Earl loose with another woman?"

"Not you!" He roared with laughter as she drank and re shy;turned the bottle. Waving it he turned and yelled at the tavern. "Make way for the most beautiful woman in space! A real woman! And you know what? She belongs to the Moray!"

Lin came through the door as the engineer staggered away. The steward was anxious as he stared after his mentor.

"He's gone crazy, Earl. You'd think he hadn't touched a drink for years the way he's going on. What can I do?"

"Nothing," said Dumarest. "Forget him."

Lin was firm. "I can't do that, Earl. He's my friend."

"And a man should be loyal to his friends," agreed Duma-rest. "But he should pick his friends. Claude's a drunk and there's nothing you can do about it. At any moment he could go kill-crazy and you could be on the receiving end. A man like that is dangerous. Why don't you forget him and enjoy yourself?"

"I couldn't," said the steward simply. "Not if I know he needs me. Tell me what to do, Earl?"

"Follow him. Pick him up if he falls down. Try to see that he doesn't get robbed and, when he passes out, get help to carry him back to the ship."

A friend, thought Dumarest as Lin moved away. Some shy;one the engineer didn't deserve and didn't appreciate. And Claude? A father image to the boy, a surrogate parent who taught and held a tarnished glory. Only Lin wouldn't believe that it was tarnished. He would put his trust in his hero and maybe it would break his heart when realization final shy;ly came.

"A nice boy." Lallia's voice was low. "It would be won shy;derful to have a son like that, Earl."

"Yes," said Dumarest.

"Perhaps, one day, we shall." Her hand tightened on his arm. "When we settle down, Earl. When we find a place we can call home." Her grip tightened even more. "And soon, Earl. Soon."

Soon, before it was too late-if it was not too late already.

Inside the tavern was filled with men and laughing girls; the men, mostly spacers, somber in their uniforms against the carnival dress worn by residents and visitors. Girls swung between the crowded benches carrying great jugs of wine and beer, trays of cakes and pastries, fried meats wrapped in crisp batter, fish which had been gilded in gold and silver and glowing red. Dumarest bought a bottle of wine, a hand shy;ful of cakes, and two of the fish, carrying them to a table surrounded by a medley of uniforms.

"Those you can keep," said Lallia, pushing aside the fish. "I've had enough seafood to last the rest of my life." She bit into one of the cakes as Dumarest poured the wine, swallowing as she picked up the glass. "Here's health!"

They drank. The wine was dark, full-bodied, easy to throat and stomach. Dumarest savored it as he picked up one of the fish. The flesh was white and delicately sweet. Around them talk hummed like a swarm of bees.

"-told him the load would go bad without . . . fifteen, I said, and not one less . . . the Giesha didn't show at rendezvous so we took . . . tried to sell us some stuff which any fool would have known . . . that drunken idiot from the Moray?"

Dumarest looked up as he sipped his wine, his attention caught by the name of the trader. A broad back was talking to a high forehead.

"I saw him," said the high forehead. "Rolling all over the place. No man can drink like that and remain sharp. He's only got to let the generators get point oh, oh five out of phase and you know what happens then."

"Curtains," said the broad back. "Disorientation and, in the Web, that's bad."

"That's final!" The high forehead was emphatic. "Say, did you hear about the Quand? I met a man on . . ."

Lallia smiled at Dumarest as he turned, lowering his glass. "We don't have to worry, Earl. We won't be on the Moray when Claude finally sends her to destruction."

"No," he said, thinking of Lin, the burning desire of the boy to learn, to emulate his friend. Suddenly the wine tasted sour. "Let's go and look at the town."

The main street led to an area thronged with sideshows. A man called as they passed. "This way, lord and lady, sense the thrills of the condemned. Full sensory tapes of those who have met death by burning, hanging, poisoning, and dismemberment. Not to be bettered in the entire Web!"

Another, "Two more wanted for the love-raffle! Come and share in erotic delights!"

Another, "Trained symbiotes from Phadar! Exotic thrills for an ounce of blood!

A painted crone tittered as they passed her booth gaudy with mystic signs. "Read your future, dearie? Find out if the fine young man means what he says."

"He means it, mother," said Lallia hanging to Dumarest's arm. "I'll see to that."

A fire-eater blew long streamers of brilliance. A girl writhed to the monotonous pounding of a drum. A squat, amorphous creature snarled and rattled heavy chains. From before a billowing tent a woman called in a voice of trained allurement:

"You there, master! Care to fight for your lady? Ten-inch blades and first blood the winner. A prize for all contestants and, if you win, fifty coryms and the choice of five willing wantons."

Lallia was curt. "Go to hell, you painted bitch!"

The woman, a blonde, curvaceous of body, smiled with a lifting of her full, red lips. "What's the matter, honey? Can't stand the competition? Or are you afraid good-looking will get himself hurt?"

"Make it five hundred and he'll fight to the death!"

The woman blinked. "Say, do you mean that? If you do a match can be arranged. How about coming up here to discuss the deal?"

"Forget it," snapped Dumarest.

"Why, Earl?" Lallia looked up into his face as he pulled her away from the tent. "I've seen you fight, remember? The pugs they've got in there wouldn't stand a chance against your speed. And we could use five hundred coryms."

"I'll fight if I have to," he said curtly. "But I don't do it for fun. And it wouldn't be a fair combat. The opponent would be helped all along the line. Lights fixed to dazzle, attention-catchers, even a gimmicked blade. I've even known them to use a gas-spray to slow a man down."

"You've worked in the circuits," she said slowly. "You didn't tell me that, Earl."

"There's a lot I didn't tell you."

"But you could win," she insisted. "You know that."

He halted and looked into her eyes. "Listen, girl, there's no such thing as a certainty. Every time a man fights he gambles his life. So far I've won but that doesn't mean that I can't lose. It could be this time, in that tent, is that what you want?"