"See that fellow over there, Steve?" whispered Tom. "The one with the
scar on his face?"
"Yeah," replied the disguised Solar Guard officer. "I've been watching
him too. And I think he's had his eye on us."
Tom and Captain Strong were sitting in a small restaurant near the
spaceport, drinking Martian water and discussing the shadowy characters
that lounged around the stuffy little room.
"I'll walk over to the bar," said Strong. "Maybe he doesn't want to talk
to two of us together. You go over and see if you can strike up a
conversation."
"Good idea, sir--uh--Steve," said Tom.
Strong got up and with an exaggerated swagger walked to the small bar.
From the mirror in back of the bar, he could see Tom rise and saunter
over to the man who sat on the opposite side of the room.
For three days, Roger, Astro, Tom, and Strong had wandered through the
bars, restaurants, and cheap hotels of Spaceman's Row in Luna City
searching for information that would lead them to Wallace and Simms.
Each night they returned to the freighter to exchange, sift, and analyze
the bits of information gathered, but for three nights they had come up
with a total of nothing. Finally, Strong had decided that this would be
the last night they would spend in Luna City. It was after making this
decision that he and Tom spotted the scar-faced man sitting alone in one
corner.
[Illustration: _The scar-faced man obviously wanted something from Tom_]
Strong saw Tom stop at the table, say a few words, then sit down and
order drinks. Tom and the scar-faced man continued their conversation,
now leaning across the table talking in whispers, stopping only long
enough for the waiter to serve the drinks. Strong noticed that the
scar-faced man paid for them and smiled to himself. That was a step in
the right direction. He obviously wanted something from Tom.
Suddenly the young cadet looked up and motioned for him to come over to
the table. Strong merely lounged against the bar and nodded carelessly.
Taking his time, he finished his glass of Martian water, then swaggered
across the crowded room to the table.
Tom glanced up casually and then turned to his companion at the table.
"This is my skipper," he said. "Name's Steve. You gotta job to do,
Steve'll do it. Anything, anywhere, any time," he paused, and then added
with a smirk, "for a _price_!"
The scar-faced man looked up at Steve. His eyes traced a pattern over
the tall man, noting the broad shoulders, the piercing eyes, and the
bulge of a paralo-ray gun in his jacket. He pushed a chair back with a
foot and managed a smile in spite of the scar that twisted his features
into an ugly mask. "Sit down, Steve. My name's Pete."
Strong accepted the invitation silently. At close range, he saw the man
was more disfigured than he had noticed from the bar. The scar on his
face reached from his left ear across his cheek and down to his neck.
Pete saw him looking at the scar and smiled again. "Funny thing about
scars. I got one, but I don't have to look at it. I just stay away from
mirrors and I remember myself as I was before I got it. So look all you
want. You're the one that's got to suffer for it."
Ignoring the man's bitter tone of voice, Strong growled, "I'm not
interested in what you look like. You got something to haul; we got a
ship to haul it. Name your cargo and destination, and we'll name a
price."
"Ain't as simple as that," said Pete craftily. "I gotta know more about
you before we talk business."
"What for instance?" asked Strong.
"For instance, who do you know on Spaceman's Row that can give you a
reference?"
Tom spoke up quickly without looking at Strong. "Suppose I told you I
helped pull a job a couple of weeks ago that was worth a hundred
thousand credits?" He settled back, casually glancing at Strong and
receiving an imperceptible nod in return.
"A hundred thousand, eh?" said Pete with interest. "Not bad, not bad.
What kind of a job was it?"
"Me and two other guys held up the Credit Exchange at the Solar
Exposition at Venusport."
"Oh?" Pete was becoming extremely curious. "You in on the job too,
Steve?"
Before Strong could answer, Tom spoke quickly. "No, I bought a half
interest in Steve's ship with my share of the take." Strong could hardly
keep from smiling, so easily was the young cadet's tale growing.
"Then who _was_ in on this job with you?" persisted the scar-faced man.
"You look pretty young to pull a big job like that."
Tom glanced around the room and then leaned over the table before
whispering, "Gus Wallace and Luther Simms."
"What?" exclaimed Pete. "Gus Wallace? A guy about six feet tall and two
hundred pounds? Has a heavy rough voice?"
"That's the one," said Tom.
Pete's arm shot across the table like a snake and he grabbed Tom by the
jacket. "Where is he?" he asked through clenched teeth.
No sooner had Pete touched Tom than Strong had his paralo-ray gun
leveled at the scar-faced man. "Take your hands off him," he said
coldly, "or I'll freeze you right where you are!"
Pete relaxed his grip and settled back into his chair. He glared at Tom
and then at Strong.
"All right," snapped Strong. "Now _you_ talk!"
Pete didn't say anything. Strong inched closer to the scar-faced man
menacingly. "I said _talk_! Why do you want to know where Gus Wallace
is? Maybe you're Solar Guard, eh? Trying to play a little trick on us.
How do I know you haven't got a squad of MP's outside waiting to pick us
up?"
Pete began to shift nervously. "You got me all wrong, Steve. I ain't
Solar Guard."
"Why do you want to know where Gus Wallace is, then?" Strong persisted.
Pete hesitated and had to be prodded with the paralo-ray gun again by
Strong. "Talk!" hissed Strong.
"You see this scar?" asked Pete. "Well, two years ago, on Spaceman's Row
in Marsopolis, Gus slashed me in a fight. I swore I'd do the same for
him when I caught him, but he's been running from me ever since."
"Marsopolis, eh?" asked Strong. "Two years ago?"
"Yeah."
"I think you're lying! You're Solar Guard."
"Honest, Steve," whined Pete. "That's the only reason I want him. Ask
anybody. It happened in the Spacelanes Bar on New Denver Avenue. I bet
there are five guys here right now who heard about it!"
Strong got up, pushing the gun back in his belt.
"Come on, Tom. I don't like the way your friend Pete answers questions."
"Wait a minute!" Pete rose from his chair, protesting.
Strong whirled around and faced the scar-faced man. "If I were you,
Pete," he muttered, "I'd sit still and not ask any more questions. It
isn't healthy!"
Without another word Strong walked out of the dingy restaurant. Tom
shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture and followed, leaving Pete
alone and worried.
Outside in the street, his face bathed in the garish light of the vapor
street lights, Strong stopped to wipe his forehead.
"Whew!" he gasped. "We certainly bulled our way through that one!"
"I felt the same way," said Tom. "But at least we have something to go
on. You think he was suspicious?"
"No, Tom. He was so scared when I accused him of being tied up with the
Solar Guard it threw him completely off stride."
"Well? Where do we go from here?" asked Tom.
"Back to the ship," replied Strong. "And as soon as Astro and Roger show
up, we blast off for Marsopolis. Our next target is a joint called the
Spacelanes!"
* * * * *
Against a backdrop of shimmering stars that studded the velvet black
emptiness of space, the freighter _Dog Star_ rocketed toward the red
planet of Mars carrying the four spacemen on the next step of their
search. Relaxing from the three arduous days on the Moon and able to be
themselves once more, Strong and the three cadets rested and discussed
every detail of their stay in Luna City. It was finally decided that
their only real chance of tracing Wallace and Simms lay in the
Spacelanes Bar. As they approached Mars, Strong outlined their next
move.
"We'll do the same thing as we did in Luna City," he said. "Split up.
Only this time, we'll all go to the same place, the Spacelanes. Tom and
I will go in first and do most of the nosing around. Astro and Roger
will drift in later and hang around, just in case there's trouble."
The three cadets nodded their understanding, and when Strong turned to
the teleceiver to make his report to Commander Walters at Space Academy,
they took their stations for touchdown at Marsopolis.
His face impassive on the teleceiver screen, Commander Walters listened
to Strong's report, and when the Solar Guard officer finished, he
grunted his satisfaction.
"Do you have any news on Wallace and Simms, sir?" asked Strong.
"Yes, but my news isn't as good as yours," frowned Walters. "They've
already made use of their knowledge of the light-key. They held up a
Solar Guard transport en route to Titan and emptied her armory. They
took a couple of three-inch atomic blasters and a dozen paralo-ray guns
and rifles. Opened the energy lock with their adjustable light-key as
easily as if it had been a paper bag. It looks as though they're setting
themselves up for a long siege."
"Do you have any idea where they might be hiding, sir?"
"Somewhere in the asteroid belt, I believe," replied the commander.
"They headed for the belt after they held up the transport."
"Well, we'll do what we can from our end, sir," said Strong. "Since Mars
is closer to the asteroid belt than any other planet, they might be
using Marsopolis as a hangout. Or someone might have seen them
recently."
"Use whatever plan you think best, Steve. I'm counting on you."
"Thank you, sir."
"Spaceman's luck! End transmission."
"End transmission," replied Strong and flipped off the screen.
Fifteen minutes later, the _Dog Star_ settled on a blast-scorched ramp
at the Marsopolis spaceport, and after a hasty review of their plans,
the four spacemen left the ship. Strong had a brief argument with a
customs officer over a personal search for small arms. They were forced
to leave their paralo-ray guns on the ship. Disgruntled, as far as the
customs agents were concerned, Strong was actually pleased with the
success of their disguise as merchant spacemen.
Tom and Strong found the Spacelanes Bar in the roughest and darkest
section of Marsopolis. It was large and almost empty. But Tom noted that
it was just like many other such places he had been in in Luna City. The
walls were scarred and dirty, the floor littered, and the tables and
chairs looking as if they had been used in a hundred fights. Behind a
bar that ran the length of one wall, a heavy-set man with beady black
eyes watched their approach.
"What's your pleasure, spacemen?" asked the bartender in a gruff voice.
Strong hesitated a moment and decided to play all his cards at one turn.
"We'll have a thousand credits worth of information."
The barman's eyes narrowed into black slits. "What kind of information
would bring that kind of a price?" he asked.
"Information about a man," said Strong.
"What man?" asked the barman. He dropped his hand out of sight behind
the bar. Tom's eye caught the move and he wished the customs men hadn't
taken away their paralo-ray guns.
Just at that moment he heard Roger's unmistakable laugh and turned to
see the blond cadet, followed by Astro, enter, cross the room, and slap
the bar for service.
"Let me take care of these two," muttered the bartender and walked down
to the end of the bar. Facing Roger and Astro, he snarled, "What'll it
be?"
"Coupla bottles of Martian water," drawled Roger.
"Get out of here," roared the bartender. "We don't sell kids' drinks in
here."
"Two bottles of Martian water!" growled Astro and leaned over the bar
threateningly. Strong and Tom watched the performance with amused eyes.
Without a word, the barman opened the bottles of Martian water and gave
them to Roger and Astro. He turned back to Strong.
"These young rocketheads think they're so blasted tough," he sneered,
"and then drink kids' soda pop."
Strong looked at Roger and Astro. "That fellow on the right," indicating
Astro's size, "looks like he could be a little more than a child, if he
got mad."
The barman snorted and leaned over the bar. "What about that thousand
credits?" he asked.
"What about it?" countered Strong.
"That's a lot of money just for information," said the barman.
"It's my money," replied Strong coolly, "and my business!"
"What kind of information you interested in," asked the bartender.
"I told you, information about a man," said Strong. "Gus Wallace. Happen
to know him?" Strong pulled a roll of crisp credit notes out of his
jacket pocket. The barman looked at them greedily.
"Maybe. What'cha want with him?" he asked.
"He knifed a friend of ours in here two years ago."
"Yeah?" drawled the barman. "Who?"
"Pete," answered Strong, suddenly realizing he didn't know the
scar-faced man's last name.
"Pete? Pete who?" asked the barman craftily.
"What are you trying to do?" snapped Tom suddenly. "Play space lawyer?
You know Pete was knifed in here by Gus Wallace two years ago! Carved up
good!" He made a slashing gesture from his ear to his throat, indicating
the scar on Pete's face.
"So you want Wallace, eh?" mused the bartender.
"We want him a thousand credits' worth," said Strong.
"You didn't tell me for what, yet."
"None of your space-blasting business," roared Strong. "You want the
thousand or not?"
The bartender couldn't keep his eyes off the crisp roll of credit notes
Strong rippled under his nose and hesitated. "Well, to tell you the
truth, I ain't seen him for a long time."
"Then do you know anyone who has?" asked Strong.
"Hard to tell," said the bartender huskily. "But I do know the guy who
would know if anyone does."
"Who?" asked Tom.
"On Venusport's Spaceman's Row. There's a joint called the Café Cosmos.
Go there and ask for a little guy named Shinny. Nicholas Shinny. If
anyone knows about Wallace, he'll know."
Tom's heart almost stopped. Nicholas Shinny was a retired spaceman who
had taken part in his last adventure to Alpha Centauri, and was a good
friend of Strong's and the _Polaris_ unit. Shinny had always operated on
the edge of the space code. Nothing illegal, but as Shinny himself put
it, 'just bending the code a little, not breaking it.'
Tom spoke up. "That's only worth a hundred credits," he said.
"Whaddya mean!" snapped the barman.
"How would Nick Shinny know Gus Wallace?" asked Strong.
"They prospected the asteroids together years ago."
Strong dropped a hundred-credit note on the bar and turned away without
another word. Tom followed, and as they passed Roger and Astro, a
knowing look passed between them, and Tom gestured for them to follow.
Having heard the conversation, Astro and Roger walked over to the
bartender who was folding the credit note before putting it in his
pocket.
"You sell your information pretty cheap, spaceman," snarled Roger.
"Suppose those two were Solar Guardsmen in disguise?"
The bartender paused, then shook his head. "Couldn't be!" he said.
"Why not?" asked Roger.
"Because the Solar Guard has a guy salted away that knows exactly where
Wallace is."