"Relax," Lathe told him, flicking a glance at Skyler. The other blackcollar shrugged minutely, Lathe's puzzlement mirrored on his own face. Over the years Lathe had seen a lot of reactions to him and his fellow blackcollars, but instant and abject terror was a new one. "All we want are some clothes, some transportable food if you've got it, and some maps."
"Maps?" The father blinked, surprise momentarily eclipsing the fear. "Why do you—? I'm sorry—of course we've got maps. They're, uh, in my desk—in there."
Lathe nodded permission and he sidled off, Skyler falling in quietly behind him. Shifting his attention to the others, Lathe tried a smile. "Relax. Please. We just need a few things, and then we'll be gone." He paused as his tingler again came on: Two bicycles and snow-track vehicles in garage; no car.
That was going to be inconvenient. Lathe eyed the teenager, still standing like a condemned man in the middle of the room. A bit shorter than Lathe, but otherwise about the same build. "Sean, go get me some of your clothes," he told the other. "A complete outfit, like you'd wear for a night on the town."
The boy gulped and hurried from the room, and Lathe returned his attention to the woman. "We're going to need a car," he told her. "Any idea who around here might have one?"
"We don't own a car," she whispered. "There aren't too many in town."
Pursing his lips, Lathe nodded and tapped at his tingler: Jensen: locate central town lights?
Visible. Estimate two klicks away. Small group half klick away.
Acknowledged. "What's the group of buildings half a kilometer down the road?" he asked the woman.
"It's just a marketing area," she said. "A couple of stores, a bar, a restaurant. Mostly for people traveling on the highway."
And a likely spot to find transportation. Jensen, Hawking: head for half-klick lights; quiet scout of area; will rendezvous there.
As the blackcollars acknowledged, Sean came back, his arms full of clothes. Lathe was busy trying them on when Skyler returned with the father and a fistful of paper. "Maps of Denver and some of the mountain areas, a two-year-old restaurant guide, and a five-year-old almanac," the big blackcollar reported. "Should at least give us a start."
"Good." Lathe glanced at the maps. Roads, city and town boundaries, some general business and commercial information—a good supplement to the topographic maps Lepkowski had provided.
"I'm afraid we won't be able to return these," he told the father, sliding the papers into his pack. "But we can pay for them."
A frown creased the other's forehead. "I don't understand."
"I said we'd pay for what we're taking."
"No, I meant... surely you've got better maps than these old things."
Lathe frowned in turn... and suddenly a piece seemed to fall into place. "Skyler, see if you can find at least a coat or something that fits you. Go show him what you've got," he added to the father, putting an edge on his voice.
The other gulped and led Skyler away. Lathe regarded the mother thoughtfully. "You've seen other blackcollars in town, I take it?"
She shook her head quickly. "We haven't seen anything," she almost whispered. "No one. I mean, we're just working people around here."
Lathe pursed his lips and turned away. Lying through her teeth, obviously—telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. Given a little time, he could probably get past that to the truth, but time was a commodity in short supply just now.
Skyler and the father came back, the blackcollar wearing a nondescript coat over his Plinry clothing.
"A little tight, but it covers well enough," he told Lathe, flexing his arms experimentally.
"It'll do," Lathe said. "You have any cash in the house?"
The father's lips twitched. Stepping to a small console/desk in the conversation-room corner, he pulled a flat folder from the top drawer and withdrew a thin stack of familiar-looking bills. "My wallet's in the bedroom," he added, handing Lathe the banknotes.
"Don't bother," the comsquare said, examining one of the bills closely. TDE marks, just like the ones they'd brought from Plinry, but with an extra seal embossed on one side that identified its origin as the Phoenix printing office.
"Not going to work," Skyler murmured over his shoulder.
"Not unless we want to advertise just how far out of town we're from," Lathe agreed. "On to plan beta, I guess." He looked up at the father. "Afraid we'll have to take your cash after all. I trust this will cover everything."
The other caught the small box Lathe tossed him. His eyes widened momentarily as he saw the small diamond inside. "Yes—yes, this is more than enough. I—uh—thank you, sir."
"You will, of course, keep our visit quiet," the comsquare said.
"Oh, yes—of course we will."
"I hope so. For your sake." Turning, Lathe headed for the door.
—
The bar the mother had mentioned was at the upslope edge of the shopping area, its parking lot edged with trees. Jensen and Hawking were waiting in the shadows there when Lathe and the others joined them. "About twenty people in the bar—all male, I think," Jensen reported. "Of the four cars there, the one at the north end would probably be our best bet, the one next to it second best."
"Be a bit of a squeeze even with two," Skyler murmured.
"We can take all four if you want," Jensen said dryly. "Barman's a big harmer who looks like he's been in a fight or two—may have a weapon handy. The restaurant at the other end of the block's already closed for the night, and everything else seems empty."
"Communications?"
"Phone behind the bartender," Hawking said. "No obvious antenna anywhere, so it's probably a groundwire or optical-fiber connection to a central station. Easiest place to knock it out is inside."
"Though we are within running distance of other phones," Lathe pointed out.
"There's that, of course."
"Um. All right. Hawking, get busy on that car. You and Jensen will rendezvous with Caine while Skyler, Mordecai, and I take a good look inside and clear the tracks for you."
The car was of a type Hawking had never seen before, and it took him nearly five minutes to bypass its antitheft system and get it started. "Now what?" Skyler asked as the car purred off into the darkness.
"We try our famous smuggler impersonations and see if we can shake loose some kind of underground. Mordecai, you'll be backup out here."
Lathe had been in and out of bars since he'd turned eighteen, nearly forty years earlier, and he'd long since learned that it was the clientele—not the decor, stock, or planet—that distinguished the various types from one another. Skyler a step behind him, he headed toward the bar, throwing casual glances at the dark and sparsely occupied tables they passed among, and by the time he hooked an elbow over the stained ceramic counter, he'd made his assessment.
This wasn't the sort of bar where people came simply to enjoy themselves. The men openly eying the newcomers were hard, middle-aged working types, the late hour and almost tangible bitterness in the air suggesting they were unemployed. A place for being angry together, and a potentially fertile recruitment center for an anti-Ryqril underground.
The barman took his time stepping over to them. "Evening," he rumbled. "What'll you have?"
"Two glasses of your best beer," Lathe told him. "And have something yourself."
"Thanks," the other said indifferently. He stepped to a line of spigots in the back wall, drew three glasses. "Just passing through?" he asked as he set two of them on the bar.
A blunt question; it deserved an equally blunt answer. "Depends on how fast we find an interested buyer," Lathe told him, sipping at his glass. The beer was unexpectedly bitter. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone in the market for, shall we say, hard-to-get merchandise?"
The other's face didn't change. "Most business around here gets done in Denver."
"Ah." Reaching into his pocket, Lathe withdrew a small laser pistol, a rebuilt souvenir of the Terran- Ryqril war. "Sorry to have wasted your time, then," he said, turning the weapon over in his hands as if looking for imperfections in its dark gray finish. "I guess we'll be moving on."