An hour later he was sitting at his usual table at the Golden Fleece, a tavern on the outskirts of New Punjab, a small city that had nothing in common with the original Punjab except the subjugation of its natives, in this case the orange-skinned humanoids of Bailiwick. The world wasn't a very large or very important one: it held no fissionable materials, few precious stones or metals, and the farmland wasn't among the best. But it did have two million natives—it had had close to five million before the Navy pacified them—and three human cities, of which New Punjab, with almost 40,000 residents, was the largest.
It was said that Black Orpheus had once spent a night on Bailiwick, but there were no holographs or other records to prove it. Bailiwick's main claim to fame was Milos Jannis, who had been born there and was now the Democracy's middleweight freehand champion. Two minor actors and a second-rate novelist were the only other things Bailiwick had to brag about.
Danny Briggs didn't want to add to that total. He was content to remain relatively unknown and unapprehended. He shunned publicity the way bad politicians seek it out. Even when he turned a profit at what he considered to be his business, he always made sure to deposit and spend it offworld.
He ordered a drink and sat there, staring at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He wasn't thrilled with what he saw: a few inches under six feet in an era when the average man stood two inches above six feet. He was thin; not emaciated, but somewhere between slender and wiry. His head was covered by nondescript brown hair. He didn't like his chin much; too pointy. For the hundredth time he considered growing a beard to cover it, but his mustache was so sparse he hated to think of what a beard would look like. His ears stuck out too far; he figured one of these days he was going to lose one or both in a fight.
No, on the whole, there wasn't much about Danny Briggs that he liked. Hell, he didn't even like the way he made his living. He didn't believe in God, so he didn't believe that God had some nobler purpose for him. He had no fire burning in his belly, but rather a certain unfocused dissatisfaction, a desire to make some kind of mark, to scratch his name on the boulder of Time so people would know he'd been here. Not that he was a hero, because he wasn't; not because he would someday make a difference to the handful of misfits and criminals that formed his circle of friends, because he knew he was incapable of making one; but simply to show those who came after him that once upon a time there was a man named Danny Briggs, and he had lived right here on Bailiwick, and that, just once, he'd done something worth remembering.
Except that everything he'd done up to now was aimed at letting no one know he'd been here, and far from remembering him, he wanted nothing more than for the police and the Democracy to completely ignore his existence.
Interesting conflict, he thought wryly. The urge to be known versus the need to be hidden. Perhaps someday he'd resolve it, though he doubted it.
A grizzled, white-haired man with a noticeable limp entered the Golden Fleece, looked around, and walked directly to Danny's table.
"I'm not too early, am I?" he asked.
"No, I've got it," said Danny.
"The usual price?"
"Three hundred Maria Theresa dollars up front and twenty percent of whatever you make."
"It was two hundred fifty last time," grumbled the man.
"Success breeds inflation."
"You sure you won't take Democracy credits?" asked the old man.
"I don't want anything to do with them," said Danny. Besides, he added mentally, you start spending too many Democracy credits, you start attracting a little too much Democracy attention—but I guess you haven't figured that out, have you?
"Okay, okay," said the old man. He removed a prosthetic hand, pulled a wad of money out of it, counted out three hundred Maria Theresa dollars, and pushed it across the table.
"Thanks," said Danny. He pulled out a tiny computer, retrieved an address, and transferred it to a hologram for the old man to study. "This is it."
"You're sure?"
"Have I ever been wrong yet?" asked Danny, nodding to another client who entered the Golden Fleece and caught his eye.
"No, you never have been," said the old man. "I don't know how you do it." That's because you and every other fool I deal with would have broken into the kennel's safe tonight and come away with a couple of hundred credits if you were lucky. Not one of you would ever think of stealing a list of the animals' owners, complete with their addresses and the dates that they're gone.
"Memorize it," said Danny, indicating the hologram that the tiny computer was projecting.
The man studied it, then nodded his head. Danny wiped the information from the machine and deactivated it.
"Thanks, Danny," said the old man, getting to his feet. The next client sat down opposite him.
Jesus! I rob the data from that computer every three or four months and don't take any other risks, and I get twenty percent of three hundred robberies a year. It's almost too easy. Doesn't anyone else on this dirtball have a brain?
Their negotiation completed, the man got up and left, and Danny was alone with his drink once again. A redhead, a bit
overweight but still pretty, smiled a greeting at him from a nearby table.
"Hi, Danny," she said.
"Hi yourself, Duchess," said Danny. "I just finished tonight's business. Why don't you come over and join me?" He flashed a wad of money. "I'm solvent tonight."
"You never give up, do you?" she said, amused.
"Of course not," replied Danny. "You don't hit the moon if you don't shoot for it."
"Am I the moon?"
"You'll do."
"Boy, you sure know how to turn a girl on," she said sardonically.
He smiled. "It works with all the other girls."
"So turn your charm on one of them."
"Anything worthwhile takes effort," he replied. "You take effort."
"I suppose I'm flattered," said the Duchess.
"So join me."
"I said I was flattered, not interested."
"One of the days you're going to say yes, and it'll be a race to see which of us drops dead from shock first."
"One of these days you'll get an honest job, and maybe I'll say yes."
"If I had an honest job, I couldn't afford you." He smiled. "I'm sure someone somewhere has based an entire philosophical system on a paradox just like that one."
"Not funny, Danny."
"Look, some people are great rulers of men, some are great cleaners of stables. I found out what I was good at early on."
"I think it's criminal that you feel that way."
He smiled again. "Criminal's the word. Still, I'm willing to be shown the error of my ways. Come have a drink."
"No, thanks."
"You really won't join me?"
"I really won't."
"But your heart would be broken if I hadn't asked, right?"
"Try not asking some night and we'll see."
"You drive a hard bargain, Duchess," said Danny. "But one of these days you'll see me as I really am."