“It’ll be fine. We’re just here to do business.”

“I thought you said people on this planet hate Federation citizens.”

“Sure they do. But they still like our money. Call it Quinn’s Law.” He bladed through the knot of people crowding the room and reached the bar with Bridy close behind him. Then he waved over the bartender. “Two waters, please.”

The bartender—a burly, three-eyed, three-armed chap— said, “What kind?”

“Pardon?”

“We sell nine varieties of water.”

“Got one with just carbon dioxide in it?” The bartender nodded; so did Quinn. “Great. Two of those. With ice.”

“Which is it?”

“Sorry?”

Impatience put an edge on the bartender’s deep voice. “Ice is one of the varieties we offer. Do you want carbon water or frozen water?”

Bridy rolled her eyes at the simple transaction gone wrong.

Quinn made a fist behind his back, ostensibly in a bid to rein in his temper. “Can you break the ice into chunks and pour carbon water over it?”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave you that idea?” He drew a fistful of Gorn currency crystals from inside his cloak and dropped them on the bartop. “Two carbon waters with ice.”

“Coming up.” Wearing a put-upon expression, the barkeep stepped away and mixed the drinks. He returned, set them in front of Quinn, and plucked two small crystals from the pile Quinn had dropped on the bar. “That’ll be six szeket.”

Quinn maintained eye contact with the alien as he pushed a few more crystals across the bartop. “Here’s thirty.”

The bartender regarded Quinn and Bridy with suspicion, and he made no move to pick up the proffered crystals. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“An introduction,” Quinn said. “We need to meet someone who knows how to find things. For instance, ships in Gorn military custody.”

Dropping his dishrag over the crystals, the bartender leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

“I understand,” Quinn said. He discreetly placed four more crystals on the bartop. “Thanks, anyway.”

Wiping up the bar—and sweeping the additional currency under his rag—the bartender replied, “You’re welcome.” Then he made a subtle tilt of his head toward one of the cantina’s corner booths. Then he walked away, cash in hand.

Quinn picked up the glasses of sparkling water and handed one to Bridy. “Let’s go say hello.” They navigated a weaving path through the crowd to the corner booth, where three people sat observing their approach. The two hairy brutes seated on the outer ends of the booth looked to Bridy like the bodyguards for the slender, dapper one secluded in the back corner, just beyond the pool of light from the shaded lamp hanging by a wire above the table.

The voice that emanated from the shadows was feminine— dark, smoky, and mysterious. “Are you two lost, perchance?”

“Don’t think so. The name’s Cervantes Quinn. And you are . . . ?”

“Not in the habit of introducing myself to strangers.”

“Then how do you ever meet anyone?” Quinn’s irreverent question seemed to befuddle the mystery woman, but her bodyguards wasted no time in standing up and moving to lay hands on their employer’s uninvited guests.

Just before the situation turned ugly, the woman spoke with a voice sharp enough to carve diamonds. “Geeter, Kresh—sit down.” The bodyguards froze, maintained threatening eye contact for a moment with Quinn, then slowly retreated and eased back into their seats. The woman continued in a milder tone, “Forgive their exuberance. Anticans are loyal to a fault, but they can be rather excitable.”

“No worries,” Quinn said. “This is my associate, Bridy Mac.”

“Hi,” Bridy said with a small wave.

The woman in the corner leaned forward. Her dark-bronze face was framed by long curls of sable hair. She looked human, but Bridy knew that looks could often be deceiving. “A pleasure. My name is Chathani. Now, if you will forgive me for speaking directly: what do you want?”

“I hoped we might drink together,” Quinn said.

Chathani dipped her chin and gave Quinn the skunk eye. “Unlikely.”

“And if, while we’re enjoying our drinks together, you should happen to let slip some bit of information that proves useful to me—”

“I fear you have been misinformed, Mister Quinn. I do not think I will be sharing a beverage—or anything else—with you today.”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

“That’s a shame.” He scattered another fistful of Gorn currency across the table. “Because I was buying.”

In the light of the hanging lamp, the crystals burned with inner fires.

Chathani’s eyes widened with avarice. She whispered in the ear of the Antican on her right. He calmly swept the crystals into one massive palm and pocketed them, and then Chathani smiled. “How gauche of me,” she said. “Please, join us”—her smile became a grin—“ friends.”

6

“That sure looks like the Orion ship,” Quinn said, studying the vessel through his miniature binoculars. He and Bridy were across a wide avenue from a starport hangar even more decrepit than the one in which they’d landed. Its structure was mostly open, a series of heavy girders wrapped in barbed-wire mesh. The hangar had a few entrances, each blocked by a metal gate and armed guards.

Bridy peeked over the edge of the roof’s low safety barrier. “If the Gorn were looking to secure this ship, why park it in plain sight?”

“For starters, these are the biggest hangars in the city, and probably the only ones large enough for a ship that size. For another, keeping it in plain sight makes it harder for someone to break into it without being seen.” Quinn surveyed the street-level security. Traffic on their side of the avenue was heavy, but the other side was empty, having been cordoned off by Gorn infantry.

Beside him, Bridy made a clicking noise with her tongue. “The Gorn have big hangars on the other side of the planet, don’t they?”

“Sure.” Quinn lowered the binoculars. “But those areas are for Gorn only. Can’t have the Orion crew wandering around out there. And if they drop the crew here and take the ship there, it’d be too obvious they’re punking the Orions.”

“Fair point.” She glanced at the hangar. “Man, the Gorn are all over that thing, aren’t they?” She held out her hand. “Can I have the binoculars?” Quinn handed them to her, and she used them to study the Orion ship as she continued. “The ground crew looks like it’s mixed species. Some Tiburonians, a few humanoids I don’t recognize, a couple of Saurians. Think we can use that?”

Quinn nodded. “Probably. Impersonating ground crew is our best bet.”

She lowered the binoculars. “Swiping some maintenance uniforms might get us inside the hangar, but none of them have access to the ship’s interior. And I don’t think either of us can pass for a Gorn.”

“No, but we could pass as Orions. You did it before, on Amonash.”

“And nearly got my ass shot off—thanks for reminding me.” She handed the binoculars back to Quinn. “What’re you thinking? Posing as the ship’s officers?”

He shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. Judging by the uniform markings on the troops closest to the ship, sentry duty’s been left to the grunts. Talk fast enough and rough enough, and we might be able to get aboard.”

“Sounds like a long shot to me. For starters, we don’t know the names of any of the ship’s officers or crew, and the Gorn probably have a complete manifest.”

“Okay, then that’s our first objective: get a copy of the manifest.”

Bridy shook her head. “Forget it, that could take all week.” She pursed her lips. “We’re overthinking this. How about a simple distraction?”

“Such as . . . ?”

She pointed out details of the hangar. “Exposed coolant tubing—snipe that and the entire hangar fills with smoke and toxic vapor in fifteen seconds, tops.”

“Making it the last place I’d want to be.”