"Thumbprints, you idiot. If you keep thumbing my sensor, the big brain is going to notice and we're going to get a visit from the shore patrol. Besides, I'm programmed to get bored with you in double time. It's only the fact that we knew each other back on the planet that's been keeping it in check."
Hark was stunned. It had all seemed so easy. Conchela grinned at him.
"Don't look so desolate. I'll come with you and help you find your messmates. They'll take care of you."
The moment they stepped out into the corridor, they were caught up in an eddying spiral of drunks and women. The recstar never closed. It seemed to be in a permanent condition of roaring night. If anything, the noise seemed louder than when he had gone with Conchela to her cubicle. The booths were humming, and the fighting men were rapidly turning into animals. The light seemed more red than he remembered, bloodshot with anger and alcohol. They had to edge around two men who were head to head, blindly slugging and pounding each other. They also had to skirt a drop pilot who was throwing up on his tunic and stand aside when a shore patrol crunched by. It was the first time that Hark had been able to take a close look at these guardians of order in their lumbering servo suits. They appeared almost indestructible, yellow plate steel with heavy-duty rivets and paint that was flaking to the undercoat. There was nothing comical in the way they rolled and swayed, reproducing the movements of their human operators. The servos were worn and dangerously capable. The giant claws on the ends of their arms could circle a man's waist. They were quite merciless. Despite their crisp white uniforms and hard faces, the human operators seemed almost fragile in comparison to the massive machines that encased them.
"You don't want to mess with those bastards."
"I already learned that."
A troupe of dancers in huge, grotesque masks were coming toward them. The group was a large one, thirteen in all. They were moving slowly, beating on small hand drums, alternately crouching and then stretching up, grasping for the ceiling. They were followed by a large crowd of drunken men, shuffling and stumbling in their wake. Some were aping the crouching and reaching movements of the dancers. Hark and Conchela stood and watched them pass. There was something ponderous and primitive about the ragged procession-almost sinister. Hark realized what was disturbing him. The march reminded him of the way they'd conducted rites for the dead back on the planet. Conchela must have felt it, too. When the parade had passed, she let out a long breath but quickly covered herself by being brisk and matter of fact.
"You said your messmates had taken over a booth with a serpent banner?" "It was under a vent shaft."
She pointed over to the right. "I think the place we're looking for is just over there."
They cut through a small side corridor and made a left turn. When they came out into the main corridor again, Hark thought that he recognized some of the booths. Then he spotted the air shaft and the serpent banner.
"There it is."
The "phallic serpent" looked a little the worse for wear. A number of chairs and tables had been smashed, and pieces were scattered around the floor. Helot and a woman with short-cropped hair were passed out in the middle of the debris. Kemlo sat at a table with a drink in front of him, but he seemed no more aware of the world around him than those on the floor were. Conchela took hold of Hark's arm.
"I'm going to leave you now. I've got to get back to work."
"Will I see you again?"
Conchela shook her head. "I don't think so. It's better this way. You'll find other women to take care of you through the rest of your liberty."
"Maybe I'll come here again."
"I doubt it. Even if you did, I'd be an old woman by then."
"The time distortion?"
"We can never go back."
"I haven't seen any old women. What happens to them?"
"You don't want to know."
She kissed him quickly on the cheek.
"Good-bye, Harkaan."
She started to walk away.
"Conchela… wait."
She didn't stop. Hark's first impulse was to go after her, but he stopped himself. She turned a corner and was gone.
Vana had been replaced as booth hostess by a dark-haired woman with slanted eyes and an ample figure. She stood in the back of the booth, watching Hark.
"You liked her, did you?"
"I guess so."
"And she just gave you the brush?" "Yeah."
"She's right, you know. You can't fall in love in one of these places."
Hark dropped his gaze to the floor. "I guess you're right."
"Are you one of this bunch from the Anah 5?"
A new feeling was creeping over Hark: He was a part of this bunch. And that fact was paramount-because when it came down to the line, that was all he was. He knew that the psych programming was taking over, but what the hell, he was going to let it. It was better than hurt and confusion.
"Damn right I am."
"Then damn well lay some thumb on my sensor. I don't know when your messmates are going to be back. If they get back at all. The mood they were in, they're likely to get shipped out by the shores. The name's Vana, by the way."
"The last one was Vana."
"Everyone's Vana in this booth, honey."
"Mine's Hark."
"I don't remember names, honey. What about the thumb?"
"Where did the others go?"
"Who knows? They were blind drunk and looking for trouble. They could be anywhere by now. If I don't get some thumb, I'm going to have to let the place go to some other outfit."
She held out the sensor. Hark took it, but before he could press his thumb into it, Dyrkin came through the entrance.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"She said she was going to let the booth go."
Dyrkin's eyes narrowed. He glared at Vana.
"I paid you in front, you thieving bitch. And I warned you about clipping the boys."
"You can't blame a girl for trying."
"I just don't want to catch you trying."
"You won't."
"I just did."
"But you didn't do anything about it because you know you won't get another place now that the whole cluster's in. I won't be blatant, but I'm going to make my profit."
Dyrkin shrugged. He wasn't about to waste time arguing with the obvious. He turned to Hark.
"So what have you been up to? I ain't seen you since the first fight. You ain't a loner, are you?"
The word "loner" came out as if a loner was something he definitely shouldn't want to be.
"I met a woman. She came from my planet."
Dyrkin raised an eyebrow. "That must have been weird."
"It was, kinda."
"I don't think I'd fancy it. What did you do?" "Screwed a lot, and she talked a lot." "No doubt she filled you up with a lot of witchery." "She said that they remembered." "It doesn't do us any good." "It's good to think you're remembered somewhere." "When you're gone, you're gone." Dyrkin didn't seem to expect Hark to argue with the obvious, either. Hark didn't.
"What happened to the others?" he asked.
"Liquored up and crazy," Dyrkin replied.
"How crazy?"
"Crazy enough that the next two hundred minutes will find Renchett and a half dozen others back on the ship in a punishment pod. If nothing else, it's shaping up as a liberty that's going to be remembered."
"What's Renchett up to?"
"Usual Renchett stuff. Some woman told him that the dauquoi had an RR facility on another level of this rock. He took it into his head to break into this level and see how the dauquoi have their fun. Needless to say, he found a bunch of drunken assholes to go along with him."
"What are the dauquoi?"
"You never came across dauquoi?"