"No, I swear. Look, kamrada, it's just a misunderstanding, believe me."
I didn't bother to ask why he'd run at the sight of me, deciding to live the lie with him. "Well," I said, "if you're telling the truth, it looks like I owe you an apology."
"It's the truth, I swear it." He stepped away from the wall and straightened his clothes. "I don't swim myself, but I have seen people in the water from time to time."
"Uh-huh." I gave him a conciliatory grin. "Well, I guess it's all been a mistake then. Hope you'll accept my apologies."
He was all eager smile, his body sagging in relief. "No problem, no problem," he said. "I can understand. I guess you were hopping mad. Don't blame you, I really don't. These things happen."
"Yeah." I handed him his gun. "No hard feelings, I hope."
"No, no, none at all. Like I said, I don't blame you a bit. Would've felt the same way myself." He slipped the gun into a pocket of his bright-blue jumpsuit. "Tell you what. Let me buy you a drink."
"Sounds great."
I let Paul Hogan buy me a drink. The lounge was crowded, noisy, and the drinks were expensive. We talked pleasantly for a while over mugs of local brew. Turned out he was a slave trader by profession.
"Indentured servitude?" Hogan said. "You could call it that. There's a contract involved and a term of service specified, but the contract can be bought out at any time by the contractee. Slavery?" He shook his head in protest. "No, not at all. It's strictly a business relationship. Lots of people luck through to this maze with nothing but the clothes on their backs, their vehicles, and a pocketful of worthless currency. They need jobs, and I can get 'em. I'm a broker… an agent, that's all." He lit a funny-looking, bright-green cigar. "Ever tried these? Give you a real nice buzz." He blew smoke out one side of his mouth. "No, the reason I came over to you on the beach was because of the Cheetah. The Hothouse creature."
"Really?"
"They make great domestics. Not many of 'em in this maze. I was going to ask you if you wanted to sell it."
"Sell Winnie? No, I wouldn't think of it."
"I could offer a good price." He took 'a long pull of his drink, eyeing me like a specimen on a slide. "Uh, it seemed as if you lucked through traveling pretty light. How's your money situation? Need a loan?"
Ah ha. The Bait. "We're okay for the moment. 'Course, we'll have to do something to earn a living eventually." Nibble, nibble.
'Tell me, how'd you happen to shoot a potluck? I'm just curious. Different people have different reasons."
"Really? In our case it was a mistake. Missed a sign, and before we knew it the commit markers were on us."
"Uh-huh, uh-huh." He puffed the cigar thoughtfully. "Some people do it on purpose. Did you know that? In fact, we get more and more of those every day. Don't ask me how the word got back to T-Maze that there was something here to luck through to, but something makes 'em come. They want to get out from under the Authority's thumb. Freedom, that's what we got out here. High technology, forget it. Modem medicine, the same. Lots of things are in short supply here ― but if you don't mind roughing it, this maze is wide open. We're young and growing. Lots of opportunities." He sat back and crossed his legs. "You're right about having to do something about money eventually. Prices are high around here, believe me. You should give some serious thought to selling the Cheetah. In fact, I'm going to sweeten the deal for you, give you something to think about. I'll pay part of the price in drugs."
"Drugs?"
"Antigeronics." He snorted. "You didn't think you could get 'em here as easy as you can back in T-Maze, did you?"
"I can't imagine anything being under tighter control than anti-g's," I said. "My last treatment was after a four-year wait and a dozen different permits. And it cost a fortune."
"Sometimes you can't get them here at any price, and you'll die waiting. But I have good connections."
"How much are we talking about?" I asked, stringing him along.
"I can give you, say, a quarter-treatment's worth. The full oral series."
In a dark comer of the lounge, a quartet struck up a vaguely Latin American number. The instruments were acoustic ― marimba, trap drums, and double bass ― except for the lead omniclavier. I listened to the music for a while, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at a night sky aglow with moonlight over a silver-flecked sea.
"Paul, a quarter-treatment's not going to do me any good if I can't get the rest."
"Best I can do, Jake. We're talking big money here."
"If you can swing a full treatment, forget the cash. I'll take just the drugs."
"Can't do it, Jake. Like I said, my connection is good, but the supply is short."
"Who's your source?"
He flashed a smug grin. "My source is the source, friend.
None better, but that's the deal. Think about it." He drained his mug and wiped his mouth with two fingers. "Here, let me give you my card."
He gave me his card, which read PAUL HOGAN ASSOCIATES, EMPLOYMENT SPECIALISTS, with an address in Seahome. I finished my beer, made my excuses, and got out of there.
When I got back to the stateroom, nobody was there. I knocked on the connecting hatch and opened it. No one.
I sprawled on one of the double beds and keyed Sam.
"Yo!"
"Keeping busy down there? Anything interesting?"
"Oh, sure, nothing like watching a stomach wall ooze."
"It's oozing?"
"Yeah, but they keep spraying the place down with some kind of stuff. How's it going up there? Any trouble?"
"Things are coming to a head, but I keep getting the feeling I'm the pimple." I filled Sam in about Lori and Winnie, then ran down all the new bits of data I'd picked up, especially what I'd gleaned from Hogan.
"This is all getting very interesting," Sam said, "It's also getting a lot clearer."
"There're still some big murky areas, but I think…"
"Yeah, what?"
"Sam, just a thought. I know we're wedged in pretty tight down there, but could you muscle your way out if you had to?"
“No problem. May have to flatten a few buggies to do it, though. Why? Where do we go then?"
"I have an insane idea."
"Oh, God."
I heard the hatch opening. It was Darla, letting herself in with her key. She stopped dead when she saw me. "Jake! Where the hell have you been?"
'Talk to you later, Sam."
"Any time."
"Hi, Darla."
She came over and sat on the bed beside me. "You disappeared."
"Sorry. We went for a walk."
"Where's Winnie?"
"Wanted to talk to you about that. I gave her to somebody."
Her face didn't change expression, but a submerged ripple of surprise crossed it, once, and was gone. "You gave her to somebody? Who?"
"Uh, guy by the name of Paul Hogan. Deals in exotic animals, for zoos and such. I thought it best." I put my hands behind my head nonchalantly. "Had to do something sooner or later. Right?"
"Zoos? They have those here?"
"Apparently. Well, he didn't say zoos exactly. Now that I think of it, it seems improbable. Exotic pets, maybe." She frowned at me. "Darla, I don't like it any better than you, but it had to be done. He said he'd find her a good home."
She didn't like it, but said nothing. She was thinking.
"Where's the gang?"
"Hm? Oh, they're out shopping."
"Did you go with them?"
"No, I was looking for you."
"I should have let you know, but we got to wandering, then we met Hogan, and then… well, I wanted to get the matter taken care of. Sorry."