didn’t hear. Thefirst man’s eyes traveled slowly upward, rested on Kerwin’s head, now clearly illumined by a lamp in abracket over him, and he said with a little gulp, “No! I want no trouble with Comyn…”
Kerwin wondered what in the hell he was talking about. The would-be fighter looked at his companion,found no encouragement there; then he flung up his arm before his face, mumbled something that soundedlike “ Su serva, vai dom… ”, barged across the room, avoiding tables like a sleepwalker, and plungedout into the rain.
Kerwin realized that everybody left in the little restaurant was staring at him; but he managed to meet theeyes of the waiter long enough to drive him away. He sat down and picked up his cup, which contained
Page 24
the local equivalent of coffee—a caffeine-rich beverage tasting remotely like bitter chocolate—and
sipped. It was cold.
The remaining well-dressed Darkovan, the redheaded one, got up, came over, and slid into the emptyseat across from Kerwin.
“Who the hell are you?”
He spoke Terran Standard, to Jeff’s surprise; but he spoke it badly, forming each word with care.
Kerwin set his cup down wearily.
“Nobody you know, friend. Go away, will you?”
“No, I am serious,” the red-haired man said. “What is your name?”
And suddenly Kerwin was exasperated. What right did this chap have to come over and demand that hegive an account of himself?
“Evil-eye Fleegle, a very ancient god,” he said. “And I feel every millennium of it. Go away or I’ll put the
whammy on you like I did on your friend.”
The red-haired man grinned—a mocking, unfriendly grin. “He’s no friend of mine,” he said, “and it’sobvious you’re not what you seem; you were more surprised than anyone when he ran out of here. Obviously, he thought you were one of us.” He broke off and amended: “One of my relatives.”
Kerwin said politely, “What is this, Old Home Week? No, thank you. I come from a long line of Arcturian lizard-men.” He picked up the coffeelike stuff and buried his head in his mug again, felt theredhead’s puzzled gaze on the top of his head. Then the man turned away, muttering, “ Terranan” in thattone that made the single word into a deadly insult.
Now that it was too late, Kerwin wished he had answered more politely. That was the second timetonight that someone had thought they recognized him. If he closely resembled someone in Thendara,wasn’t this what he had come here to find out? He had a tardy impulse to go after the man and demandan explanation. But the sure knowledge that this would only mean a new rebuff prevented him. Feelingfrustrated, he put some coins down on the bar, picked up the bundle from the spaceport shop—andwent out again.
By now the rain had become icy sleet; the stars were gone. It was dark and cold, with a howling wind,and he fought his way along, shivering in the thin uniform jacket. Why hadn’t he brought along somethingwarm to wear after dark? He knew what the weather was like here at night! Hell—he had somethingwarm with him. A little peculiar-looking, perhaps, but he could put it on till he got out of this wind. Withstiff fingers he fumbled with the bundle and got out the fur-lined, embroidered cloak. He settled it over hisshoulders with a shrug, feeling the supple warmth of the fur closing around him like a caress.
He turned into a side street and there was the open square fronting on the spaceport, the neon lights ofthe Sky Harbor Hotel facing it across from the gates. He should go into the HQ, get assigned to quarters;he hadn’t reported, he didn’t even know where he was going to sleep. He walked toward the gates;then, on impulse, turned back toward the hotel for a final drink and some time to think before going backinto the world of white walls and yellow lights. Maybe he would take a room here for the night.
Page 25
The clerk, busily sorting records, hardly glanced up at him.
“You
Kerwin wondered what in the hell he was talking about. The would-be fighter looked at his companion,found no encouragement there; then he flung up his arm before his face, mumbled something that soundedlike “ Su serva, vai dom… ”, barged across the room, avoiding tables like a sleepwalker, and plungedout into the rain.
Kerwin realized that everybody left in the little restaurant was staring at him; but he managed to meet theeyes of the waiter long enough to drive him away. He sat down and picked up his cup, which contained
Page 24
the local equivalent of coffee—a caffeine-rich beverage tasting remotely like bitter chocolate—and
sipped. It was cold.
The remaining well-dressed Darkovan, the redheaded one, got up, came over, and slid into the emptyseat across from Kerwin.
“Who the hell are you?”
He spoke Terran Standard, to Jeff’s surprise; but he spoke it badly, forming each word with care.
Kerwin set his cup down wearily.
“Nobody you know, friend. Go away, will you?”
“No, I am serious,” the red-haired man said. “What is your name?”
And suddenly Kerwin was exasperated. What right did this chap have to come over and demand that hegive an account of himself?
“Evil-eye Fleegle, a very ancient god,” he said. “And I feel every millennium of it. Go away or I’ll put the
whammy on you like I did on your friend.”
The red-haired man grinned—a mocking, unfriendly grin. “He’s no friend of mine,” he said, “and it’sobvious you’re not what you seem; you were more surprised than anyone when he ran out of here. Obviously, he thought you were one of us.” He broke off and amended: “One of my relatives.”
Kerwin said politely, “What is this, Old Home Week? No, thank you. I come from a long line of Arcturian lizard-men.” He picked up the coffeelike stuff and buried his head in his mug again, felt theredhead’s puzzled gaze on the top of his head. Then the man turned away, muttering, “ Terranan” in thattone that made the single word into a deadly insult.
Now that it was too late, Kerwin wished he had answered more politely. That was the second timetonight that someone had thought they recognized him. If he closely resembled someone in Thendara,wasn’t this what he had come here to find out? He had a tardy impulse to go after the man and demandan explanation. But the sure knowledge that this would only mean a new rebuff prevented him. Feelingfrustrated, he put some coins down on the bar, picked up the bundle from the spaceport shop—andwent out again.
By now the rain had become icy sleet; the stars were gone. It was dark and cold, with a howling wind,and he fought his way along, shivering in the thin uniform jacket. Why hadn’t he brought along somethingwarm to wear after dark? He knew what the weather was like here at night! Hell—he had somethingwarm with him. A little peculiar-looking, perhaps, but he could put it on till he got out of this wind. Withstiff fingers he fumbled with the bundle and got out the fur-lined, embroidered cloak. He settled it over hisshoulders with a shrug, feeling the supple warmth of the fur closing around him like a caress.
He turned into a side street and there was the open square fronting on the spaceport, the neon lights ofthe Sky Harbor Hotel facing it across from the gates. He should go into the HQ, get assigned to quarters;he hadn’t reported, he didn’t even know where he was going to sleep. He walked toward the gates;then, on impulse, turned back toward the hotel for a final drink and some time to think before going backinto the world of white walls and yellow lights. Maybe he would take a room here for the night.
Page 25
The clerk, busily sorting records, hardly glanced up at him.
“You
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