Max Arena was a broad-shouldered six-footer, with clean-shaven blue
jaws, coarse gray-flecked black hair brushed back from a high forehead,
a deeper tan than was natural for the city in November, and very white
teeth. He was showing them now in a smile. He waved a hand toward a
chair, not even glancing at the gun in my hand. I admired the twinkle
of light on the polished barrel of a Norge stunner at his elbow and
decided to ignore it too.
"I been following your progress with considerable interest," Arena said
genially. "The boys had orders not to shoot. I guess Luvitch sort of
lost his head."
"It's nothing," I said, "that a little skin graft won't clear up in a
year or so."
"Don't feel bad. You're the first guy ever made it in here under his
own steam without an invitation."
"And with a gun in his hand," I said.
"We won't need guns," he said. "Not right away."
I went over to one of the big soft chairs and sat down, put the gun in
my lap.
"Why didn't you shoot as I came in?"
Arena jiggled his foot. "I like your style," he said. "You handled
Heavy real good. He's supposed to be my toughest boy."
"What about the combat car? More friends of yours?"
"Nah," he said, chuckling easily. "Some Jersey boys heard I had a
caller. They figured to knock him off on general principles. A nifty."
He stopped laughing. "The Gyrob was mine; a remoted job. Nice piece of
equipment. You cost me real dough tonight."
"Gee," I said. "That's tough."
"And besides," he said, "I know who you are."
I waited. He leaned over and picked something off the table. It was my
wallet.
"I used to be in the Navy myself. Academy man, believe it or not.
Almost, anyway. Kicked out three weeks before graduation. A frame.
Well, practically a frame; there was plenty of guys doing what I was
doing."
"That where you learned to talk like a hood?"
For a second Arena almost didn't smile.
"I am perfectly capable of expressing myself like a little gentleman,
when I feel so inclined," he said, "but I say to hell with it."
"You must have been before my time," I said.
"A year or two. And I was using a different name then. But that wasn't
my only hitch with the Service. When the Trouble started, I enlisted. I
wanted some action. When the Navy found out they had a qualified Power
Section man on their hands, I went up fast. Within fourteen months I
was a J. G. How about that?"
"Very commendable."
"So that's how I knew about the trick I. D. under the emulsion on
the snapshot. You should have ditched it, Maclamore. Or should I say
Captain Maclamore?"
* * * * *
My mouth opened, but I couldn't think of a snappy answer to that one.
I was in trouble. I had meant to play it by ear once I reached Arena
to get the information I needed. That was out now. He knew me. He had
topped my aces before I played them.
Suddenly Arena was serious. "You came to the right man, Maclamore.
You heard I had one of your buddies here, right? I let the word leak;
I thought it might bring more of you in. I was lucky to get Admiral
Hayle's deputy."
"What do you want with me?"
Arena leaned forward. "There were eight of you. Hayle and his aide,
Wolfgang, were shot when they wouldn't spill to the Provisional
Government--or whatever that mob calls itself. Margan got himself
killed in some kind of tangle near Denver. The other four boys pulled a
fast one and ducked out with the scout you guys came back in. They were
riding dry tanks--the scout had maybe thirty ton/hours fuel aboard--so
they haven't left the planet. That leaves you stranded. With six sets
of Federal law looking for you. Right?"
"I can't argue with what's in the newspapers," I said.
"Well, I don't know. I got a couple newspapers. But here's where I
smell a deal, Maclamore. You want to know where that scout boat is.
Played right, you figure you got a good chance of a raid on an arsenal
or a power plant to pick up a few slugs of the heavy stuff; then you
high-tail out, join up with the rest of the squadron and, with the
ordnance you pack, you can sit off and dictate the next move." Arena
leaned back and took a deep breath. His eyes didn't leave me.
"Okay. I got one of you here. I found out something from him. He gave
me enough I know you boys got something up your sleeve. But he don't
have the whole picture. I need more info. You can give it to me. If I
like what I hear, I'm in a position to help--like, for example, with
the fuel problem. And you cut me in for half. Fair enough?"
"Who is it you've got?"