She didn't quite know what to make of it. "Where did you ―?"
Voices in the next room interrupted her. A knock came on the connecting hatch.
John poked his head in. "Hello?"
"Come on in," I said.
John stepped in, decked out in a bush outfit. He looked like a khaki beanpole. "What do you think?" he said, turning like a ballerina.
"Nice outfit," I said. "Yours too, Suzie."
Susan's was more conventional, a green all-climate suit with brown knee-high boots. "We got backpacks too," she said, proudly displaying hers. "And some camping equipment, new eggs, everything."
"Yes," John said. "We thought we'd be proper starhikers for a change. Spent a bloody fortune. The prices!"
Roland walked in wearing a match for Susan's outfit. "Jake! Where the punking hell were you? ― if you don't mind my asking."
"With Winnie. I found someone to take her."
"Oh, Jake, you didn't!" Susan was shocked.
John, in a sudden reverie, said, "Odd… I was wondering where all this stuff comes from. I didn't think to check the labels. They seem good quality."
"I checked them," Roland said. "The labels were all from Terran Maze. Where else?"
John furrowed his brow. "But I was under the impression…"
"You get the door prize, Roland," I said. "The Outworlds aren't as far out as you think."
"Lots of things don't make sense here," Roland said.
"You mean goods are being shipped here from back home?" John said.
"Exactly," Roland answered.
"But how are the suppliers getting paid? I mean how…?" He was lost in thought. \
"I don't know," I said. "But nobody dumps goods through a one-way hole, do they?"
"Not likely," Roland said.
"Then there's a way back?" John said, shocked at his own conclusion. Susan was round-eyed, hope springing to her face.
"Apparently somebody knows a way," I said, "but they may not be telling."
"But if we could find it," John said.
"If this maze is as big as most are," Roland said, "that could take years. A century. And I have a feeling a great deal of this maze is unexplored."
"Well." John sighed and sat down. "Food for thought."
Susan looked crestfallen.
"Speaking of food," Roland said, thumping his stomach. "I suppose they have cabin service."
"I'm for the dining room," I said, drawing a strange look from Darla. "I want good food, civilized conversation, wine, and wit."
A knock at the outer hatch, and everyone froze.
"Come in!" I yelled.
Darla's Walther was in her hand before I could see her move. "Jake! What're you doing?" she gasped.
"Roland, get the hatch, will you? I keep forgetting the thing locks automatically."
Roland gave me a puzzled look, then went to answer it.
"Darla, put that thing away. We have guests."
"Mr. McGraw?"
"No, he's over there."
A ship's officer stepped in. "Mr. McGraw?"
"Yes?"
"Good evening. Jean Le Maitre, Executive Officer." "Bon soir, Monsieur Le Maitre. Comment ca-vas?" "Bon, Monsieur. Et vous? Comment allez-vous ce soir?" "Tres bien. Et qu'y a-t-il pour votre service?" "Le Capitaine presente ses compliments, et il voud-rait… excuse me. Does everyone speak French here?" "I've just exhausted my knowledge," I said. He laughed. "Then I'll speak English. Captain Pendergast presents his compliments, sir, and requests the honor of your company at dinner this evening, at his table."
"Tell the Captain," I said, "that we'd be delighted."
"Would eight bells be convenient for you?"
"That'd be fine."
"Excellent. The Captain will be expecting you. Until eight, then… mesdames et messieurs." He clicked his heels together, bowed, and left.
"La plume de ma tante est sur le bureau de mon oncle," Susan said dully.
18
I needed a weapon. I had been getting and losing them at a rapid rate lately. Another squib would be just the thing, but I doubted one could be found, as they aren't a popular item. Everybody wants a hand-cannon, for some reason. True, you can't cut through vanadium steel with a squib, but I know of few dangerous beings made of steel. You get few shots with a palm-size weapon, but you only need the one that does the job. There was a hitch, however. From the shootout at Sonny's everyone knew I favored a squib and knew exactly where I kept it hidden, if they didn't know before. All right; I'd get a shooting iron too.
The shopping area was large, divided up into stores that sold anything and everything, with no particular emphasis on any one market. I browsed through one that offered clothing, toiletries, camping equipment, food, and shelves of miscellaneous bric-a-brac. They sold weapons too. A pretty middle-aged woman showed me to a display case. The selection wasn't much; there were half a dozen odd pieces in various models, an S & W like Hogan's among them. I had second thoughts about getting a wall-burner. Maybe the 10kw would be enough. She took it out of the case for me. It was basically the same as the slave trader's, but the powerpack was a different, earlier design and was a good deal bulkier, awkwardly so. I didn't like it, but the alternatives were few. There were two Russian slug-throwers, a Colonial-made beamer, and one antique replica that qualified as a hand-cannon by anyone's lights, if you didn't mind throwing a barely supersonic projectile.
"Let me see that one," I said.
She chuckled. "Are you going to shoot it out with the sheriff?"
"I think you have the wrong period. It's a nice piece, though. What's its rating… er, caliber?"
"I wouldn't know, sir," she said.
I looked. "Oh, it says right here. Forty-four magnum. Hm. Have any ammunition?"
"I only have one box of twenty shells. Sorry, but I let someone talk me into taking that thing on a trade. Thought I could get a good price from a collector. No takers."
"It's authentic?"
"Oh, yes. Reconditioned, but it's the genuine article."
I doubted it. In fact, it looked as if it had been doctored up to look the part. She'd gotten stung, all right, and she was trying to off-load it on me. "No kidding?" I said innocently.
"Shoots pretty good, too," she said. "I used it to bang away at some croakers once. Didn't hit anything, of course."
"Uh-huh. I'll take it. How much?"
She'd let me steal it from her for fifty consols. I pilfered it for thirty-five, and I could see by her eyes that she was glad to get that. She even threw in a holster. I put the thing on, then slipped the gun into it. "Nice doing business with you…."
She smiled prettily. "Belle. Belle Shapiro. Hey, you're not going to walk around the ship with that thing, are you?"
"Why not?"
She shrugged. "No rule against it. Most people like to keep their hardware concealed, that's all."
"I'm a straightforward sort of person."
Her grin widened. "I think you are too. That makes two of us. Like to join me in a drink later? I'm about ready to close up shop."
"Love to. Belle, but I'm expected at the Captain's table, and something tells me a heavy evening lies ahead."
"Too bad. Well, some other time."
"You're sure there's no problem about wearing this?" I asked, taking the gun out and loading it with five shells, leaving the hammer over an empty chamber. I'd seen those old mopix too.
"No problem, though the Old Man has been threatening to start a policy of having all beam weapons checked at the desk. We've had a rash of fires lately. But it'd take too much time, and no one's been able to come up with a way to scan the luggage. Can't get the equipment."
As she spoke, a wild thought came into my head from parts unknown. "Belle, is there a pharmacy aboard?"