Again Joe led the way and again he led back into an areaway and knocked measured knocks on a door. Again light blinded them momentarily, and then they were in the back room of a tavern. There were a few others there ahead of them, not many. It was still, Keith reflected, comparatively early in the evening.
They took a table and Joe ordered moon-juice, Keith nodded that he’d take the same. While the aproned bartender was bringing them from the front Keith counted out eight hundred-credit notes and passed them across to Joe.
Joe nodded and shoved his hat back on his head. «You’re a right guy,» he said. «Hope we can do more business. But you’re a fool.»
«For what? Giving you back your rod, back there?»
«Yeah. Well—maybe you weren’t. If you hadn’t done that, I’d probably have taken you. If I’d given the signal back there at the game you wouldn’t have lasted—»
He broke off as the bartender came back with two shot glasses of transparent fluid. «On me,» Joe said, and put down one of the bills Keith had just given him. He raised his glass, «Death to the Arcs.»
Keith touched glasses, but took a cautious sip of his first. He’d wondered whether «moonjuice» was a nickname for some drink he already knew, or whether it was as exotic as it sounded.
It wasn’t like anything he’d ever dreamed of, let alone tasted. It was thick, almost syrupy, but it wasn’t sweet. And, paradoxically, it was cool and hot at the same time. It left a cool taste in his mouth at the same time it burned a passage down his gullet.
He saw that Joe had only sipped his, so he didn’t down it.
«The real stuff,» Joe said. «Got much of it out west?»
«Some. Not much.»
«How are things out there?»
«Fair,» Keith said. He wished that he could talk more, but there was always the risk of saying something wrong. He’d have to appear taciturn.
«Where are you staying here?» Joe asked, after another sip.
«Nowhere yet. Just blew in. Should have holed in before the mist-out, but I—had something to do.»
«I can take you to a place. Whenever you’re ready. The evening’s a pup.»
Keith nodded. They finished their drinks and Keith ordered a second round. Whatever moonjuice was he liked it. It seemed to clear his head rather than otherwise. He wished he could ask questions about it but of course he couldn’t. This was the last one, though, he decided. The stuff might be tongue-loosening and he couldn’t risk that.
After a sip from the second glass of it, he leaned forward across the table. «Joe,» he asked, «where can I find an ex-space pilot who’d like to make a thousand credits on the side?»
Joe’s eyes narrowed a little. «You kidding?»
That meant it had been a bad question but Keith couldn’t see why. Anyway, he might as well go ahead now. There were only half a dozen people in the place; he might be able to shoot his way out, even if he gave himself away.
«Why should I be kidding?» he demanded.
To his relief, Joe grinned. He jerked a thumb at his lapel. Following the gesture, Keith noticed an emblem there, about the size of and rather similar to the ruptured duck he himself had worn for a while.
«Oh,» he said and moved his hand away from the pocket with the automatic in it; he hadn’t made a major boner after all. «Didn’t notice it, Joe. How long you been out?»
«Five years. Based out of Kapi, Mars. Glad I wasn’t there a few days ago.» He shook his head slowly. «Guess there isn’t much left of Kapi.»
«We’ll get back at them for that,» Keith said.
«Maybe.»
Keith said, «You sound pessimistic.»
Joe lighted a cigarette, slowly. He said, «There’s a showdown coming. A big one. Oh, I don’t know anything except what I read between the lines but when you’ve been out there you get the feel of things. There’s a full scale attack coming—I don’t know which, us or them. But one way or the other it isn’t going to last forever.»
Keith nodded gravely. He remembered he’d better stick to the point and talk as little as necessary. He couldn’t discuss the war very intelligently, so he’d better skip it. He asked, «Been to the Moon recently?»
«Year ago.» Joe’s lips twisted. «Hadn’t started mist-outing then, yet. Thought I could make an honest living like a chump. Piloted a rich guy there in his own boat. What a brawl that was.»
«Bad?»
«Six of ’em in the party, and drunk as lords. A six-year-old kid could peelot one of those Ehrling jobs, but none of ’em was sober enough to do it. I was driving a cab, picked ‘em up one afternoon on Times Square and drove ‘em over to Jersey to his private port and he offered me a thousand to take ‘em there.
«I hadn’t been off Earth in two years and I just abandoned my cab and took ‘em. We went to Habcrul and stayed a week.» He shook his head sadly. «My grand lasted less than a day, but they kept me with them.»
Keith asked, «Those Ehrlings much different from the hot jobs?»
Joe laughed. «Same difference as between a kiddy car and a midget racer. All visual. Direct sight on your objective, push the button. Spread your wings and coast in. Complicated as drinking moon juice. Have another?»
«Thanks, no. Let’s talk business. Want to make a thousand, Joe? I want to get to the moon.»
Joe shrugged. «Why pay a thousand, pal? Every hour on the hour from LaGuardia. Ninety credits round trip.»
Keith leaned forward. «Can’t, Joe. I’m hot—dodgers out from St. Lou and they’ll be watching all the ports. Besides, some St. Lou friends of mine might be expecting me there. I’d just as soon walk in their back door.»
«That way,» said Joe, reflectively. «But—pal, for a thousand credits do you expect me to steal a private boat and take you there?»
«No. I want you to help me steal a boat and show me how to run it. You don’t have to go along. How long would it take you to show me the controls?»
«Half an hour. But swiping a boat, pal—that isn’t peanuts if we’re caught. It’s ten years on Venus.» His eyelids dropped a little and he stroked the back of one hand with the palm of the other. «I been to Venus once. I don’t want to go back.»
Keith made a rapid calculation. He said, «Three thousand credits, Joe.»
Joe sighed. «It’s a deal. When you want to go?»
«Tonight,» Keith said.
Maybe it was the moonjuice, maybe it was his years of having read science-fiction, maybe it was just that he was human, but there was a sudden wild elation in him. The Moon!
And the other word that rounded out the magic of it. He said it again. «Tonight!»
CHAPTER XIII
The Song of the Spheres
JOE SIGHED AGAIN. «That’s bad,» he said. «But if it’s got to be tonight, then it’s got to be tonight. It’ll be tougher getting out of town from under the mist-out than it will be to swipe the boat. That means I got to swipe a car too.»
«You can though?»
«Oh sure. But we’ll have to crawl in it, not much faster than walking. The mist-out doesn’t taper off till three or four miles into Jersey either. Take us a good three hours to get that far.»
«Sounds like pretty good time to me,» Keith said.
«Aren’t many guys could do it,» Joe said modestly. «You were lucky you picked me. I’ll show you a trick not many know—how to navigate a car by dead reckoning and a compass. What time is it?»
«A little after nine.»
«We can get a car in half an hour or less. Well be out of the mist-out by one then and the port we’ll go to is about thirty miles into Jersey but we’ll be in the open then. I’ll have you there by two o’clock.»
«The private port of this rich guy you mentioned?»