She curled her lip. Between Fraon and the city of Jao to the south, the
planet had quite a bit of "Paradise." Of the two cities, though, Fraon
was the larger; Fraon would be the logical one. That's why she'd chose
to try it first. That's where _he_ would come.
She left the ship and made her way over to the Guide, a small niche
of a place set into the corner of the now darkened Administration
building. The Guide was open but it didn't look as though it was doing
any business. She went inside.
There weren't any customers at all. The only person in the place was
a young, greasy looking man, an attendant, who just now was looking
bored and fingering a black pencil line mustache.
* * * * *
The greasy looking man raised his eyes. His finger left off caressing
his mustache, and he studied the woman coming toward the desk. H'mm.
Nice build. A little on the rough side, like something left out in
the atmosphere too long, but all in all not too bad. Beggars can't be
choosers. Not on Rain Night they can't. Not way out here on the edge of
nothing at eleven in the evening when everybody's gone home, they can't.
He pushed the machine of buttons across the desk toward the woman.
"Just in off the deserts?" he asked.
The woman tossed hair out of her eyes. She gave the greasy man a look.
She eyed his mustache. She didn't say anything.
The greasy man grinned. Not hard to get, he thought, just a little
careful. A little careful till she found out what he had to
offer--generally speaking.
"Five more minutes before we close," he said, his grin changing to a
leer. "You look a little lonely, sister. Me, I'm right there beside you
yanking on the same controls. Look, it's Rain Night, sure, and most
everything'll be closed in another hour but I know of a place ..." he
left the rest unsaid. He raised an eyebrow significantly.
The woman didn't say anything. She dropped a teel credit into the slot
on the control box, punched a button. Nothing happened. Then the teel
came rattling back at her through the reject. She looked up.
"Something?" the greasy man said.
"Yeah. I punch the button for a room and all that happens is my money
coming back."
"A room?" He looked incredulous. "On Rain Night? Don't be absurd,
sister. All taken days ago. Might try the 'Coptels. They might have a
vacancy. But why worry about that? Like I said...."
He leaned over the counter, leaned over toward the woman. Leaned right
into a heat gun that had appeared like old-time magic in the woman's
right hand.
"Hey!"
"You're the soul of Martian generosity," the woman said evenly. "On you
it sprouts ears. I could see that eight lanes up. Open the bank, I
need a fistful of credits."
"Huh?"
"Open the bank."
He was getting to believe it. And not liking it. He glared at the
woman, then glared down at the heat gun in her hand. He growled
indignantly:
"Why you lousy space tramp, I oughta...."
"Hold it!" Something hard was in the woman's voice.
But he didn't hold it. His hand went out darting, and his fingers
clutched for the alarm buttons on the bank. And they almost made it,
those fingers of his. They came within a thought-space of making it.
But didn't, actually.
The heat gun made a funny sound like a tiny jet biting at solid
atmosphere. The greasy man's hand stayed for an instant, his fingers
playing little chords of agony in the air.
Somebody like him. After that his body folded forward and his head came
down over the machine. His mustache, somehow, didn't look so very good
now.
The woman went around the counter, punched the control buttons on the
rear of the bank. At once two compartments came out and she looked
down into a mess of teel credits that would choke a moon crater. She
frowned. Then she transferred the platinum teels to the big pocket in
her plastiskin, closed the compartments, went around to the front of
the desk again, and looked down at the buttons.
She dropped a teel in the slot and touched the 'Coptel button. The
greasy man had been right, there were some left. From the side of the
machine came her reservation identity key.