But there are half a dozen plotted congruencies accessible to Theta Centauri, which makes Carson's Planet the inevitable cross-roads for trade of the Solar Union.
Max hit dirt there just once, once was plenty. The colony at the space port, partly domed, partly dug in under the domes, was much like the Lunar cities and not unlike the burrows under any major Earth city, but to Max it was novel since he had never been on Luna and had never seen a big city on Terra other than Earthport. He went dirtside with Sam, dressed in his best and filled with curiosity. It was not necessary to put on a pressure suit; the port supplied each passenger liner with a pressure tube from ship's lock to dome lock.
Once inside Sam headed down into the lower levels. Max protested, "Sam, let's go up and look around."
"Huh? Nothing there. A hotel and some expensive shops and clip joints for the pay passengers. Do you want to pay a month's wages for a steak?"
"No. I want to see _out_. Here I am on a strange planet and I haven't _seen_ it at all. I couldn't see it from the control room when we landed and now I haven't seen anything but the inside of a trans tube and this." He gestured at the corridor walls.
"Nothing to see but a dirty, thick, yellow fog that never lifts. Worse than Venus. But suit yourself. I've got things to do, but if you don't want to stick with me you certainly don't have to."
Max decided to stick. They went on down and came out in a wide, lighted corridor not unlike that street in Earthport where Percy's restaurant was located, save that it was roofed over. There were the same bars, the same tawdry inducements for the stranger to part with cash, even to the tailor shop with the permanent "CLOSING OUT" sale. Several other ships were in and the sector was crowded. Sam looked around. "Now for a place for a quiet drink and a chat."
"How about there?" Max answered, pointing to a sign reading THE BETTER 'OLE. "Looks clean and cheerful."
Sam steered him quickly past it. "It is," he agreed, "but not for us."
"Why not?"
"Didn't you notice the customers? Imperial Marines."
"What of that? I've got nothing against the Imperials."
"Mmm ... no," Sam agreed, still hurrying, "but those boys stick together and they have a nasty habit of resenting a civilian who has the bad taste to sit down in a joint they have staked out. Want to get your ribs kicked in?"
"Huh? That wouldn't happen if I minded my own business, would it?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Suppose a hostess decides that you're 'cute'--and the spit-and-polish boy she was with wants to make something of it? Max, you're a good boy--but there just ain't no demand for good boys. To stay out of trouble you have to stay away from it."
They threaded their way through the crowd for another hundred yards before Sam said, "Here we are-- provided Lippy is still running the place." The sign read THE SAFE LANDING; it was larger but not as pleasant as THE BETTER 'OLE.
"Who's Lippy?"
"You probably won't meet him." Sam led the way in and picked out a table.
Max looked around. It looked like any other fifth-rate bar grille. "Could I get a strawberry soda here? I've had a hankering for one for ages--I used always to get one Saturdays when I went to the Corners."
"They can't rule you out for trying."
"Okay. Sam, something you said--you remember the story you told me about your friend in the Imperials? Sergeant Roberts?"
"Who?"
"Or Richards. I didn't quite catch it."
"Never heard of the guy."
"But ..."
"Never heard of him. Here's the waiter."
Nor had the humanoid Sirian waiter heard of strawberry soda. He had no facial muscles but his back skin crawled and rippled with embarrassed lack of comprehension. Max settled for something called "Old Heidelberg" although it had never been within fifty light-years of Germany. It tasted to Max like cold soap suds, but since Sam had paid for it he nursed it along and pretended to drink it.
Sam bounced up almost at once. "Sit tight, kid. I won't be long." He spoke to the barman, then disappeared toward the back. A young woman came over to Max's table.
"Lonely, spaceman?"
"Uh, not especially."
"But _I_ am. Mind if I sit down?" She sank into the chair that Sam had vacated.
"Suit yourself. But my friend is coming right back."
She didn't answer but turned to the waiter at her elbow. "A brown special, Giggles."
Max made an emphatic gesture of denial. "No!"
"What's that, dear?"
"Look," Max answered, blushing, "I may look green as paint--I am, probably. But I don't buy colored water at house prices. I don't have much money."
She looked hurt. "But you have to order or I can't sit here."
"Well ..." He glanced at the menu. "I could manage a sandwich, I guess."
She turned again to the waiter. "Never mind the special, Giggles. A cheese on rye and plenty of mustard." She turned back to Max. "What's your name, honey?"
"Max."
"Mine's Dolores. Where are you from?"
"The Ozarks. That's Earthside."
"Now isn't that a coincidence! I'm from Winnipeg-- we're neighbors!"
Max decided that it might appear so, from that distance. But as Dolores babbled on it became evident that she knew neither the location of the Ozarks nor that of Winnipeg, had probably never been on Terra in her life. She was finishing the sandwich while telling Max that she just adored spacemen, they were so romantic, when Sam returned.
He looked down at her. "How much did you take him for?"
Dolores said indignantly, "That's no way to talk! Mr. Lipski doesn't permit ..."
"Stow it, kid," Sam went on, not unkindly. "You didn't know that my partner is a guest of Lippy. Get me? No 'specials,' no 'pay-me's'--you're wasting your time. Now how much?"
Max said hastily, "It's okay, Sam. All I bought her was a sandwich."
"Well ... all right. But you're excused, sister. Later, maybe."
She shrugged and stood up. "Thanks, Max."
"Not at all, Dolores. I'll say hello to the folks in Winnipeg."
"Do that."
Sam did not sit down. "Kid, I have to go out for a while."
"Okay."
Max started to rise, Sam motioned him back. "No, no. This I'd better do by myself. Wait here, will you? They won't bother you again--or if they do, ask for Lippy."
"I won't have any trouble."
"I hope not." Sam looked worried. "I don't know why I should fret, but there is something about you that arouses the maternal in me. Your big blue eyes I guess."
"Huh? Oh, go sniff space! Anyway, my eyes are brown."
"I was speaking," Sam said gently, "of the eyes of your dewy pink soul. Don't speak to strangers while I'm gone."
Max used an expression he had picked up from Mr. Gee; Sam grinned and left.
But Sam's injunction did not apply to Mr. Simes. Max saw the assistant astrogator appear in the doorway. His face was redder than usual and his eyes looked vague. He let his body revolve slowly as he surveyed the room. Presently his eyes lit on Max and he grinned unpleasantly.
"Well, well, well!" he said as he advanced toward Max. "If it isn't the Smart Boy."
"Good evening, Mr. Simes." Max stood up.
"So it's 'good evening, Mr. Simes'! But what did you say under your breath?'
"Nothing, sir."
"Humph! I know! But I think the same thing about you, only worse." Max did not answer, Simes went on, "Well, aren't you going to ask me to sit down?"
"Have a seat, sir," Max said without expression.
"Well, what do you know? The Smart Boy wants me to sit with him." He sat, called the waiter, ordered, and turned back to Max. "Smart Boy, do you know why I'm sitting with you?"