"_Galactic Queen._ A dreamdust peddler came wandering through the
Enclave one night and let me have a free sniff. Generous of him."
"And you--became an addict?"
"Five minutes later. So my ship left without me. That was eleven years
ago, Earthtime. Figure it out--a hundred credits a night for eleven
years."
Alan felt cold inside. It could have happened to him, he thought--that
free sniff. Byng's thin shoulders were quivering. The advanced stage of
addiction was starting to set in.
Byng was only the first of Hawkes' many friends that Alan met in the
next two weeks. Hawkes was the center of a large group of men in Free
Status, not all of whom knew each other but who all knew Hawkes. Alan
felt a sort of pride in being the protege of such an important and
widely-known man as Max Hawkes, until he started discovering what sort
of people Hawkes' friends were.
There was Lorne Hollis, the loansman--one of the men Steve had borrowed
from. Hollis was a chubby, almost greasy individual with flat milky gray
eyes and a cold, chilling smile. Alan shook hands with him, and then
felt like wiping off his hand. Hollis came to see them often.
Another frequent visitor was Mike Kovak of the Bryson Syndicate--a
sharp-looking businessman type in ultra-modern suits, who spoke clearly
and well and whose specialty was forgery. There was Al Webber, an
amiable, soft-spoken little man who owned a fleet of small ion-drive
cargo ships that plied the spacelines between Earth and Mars, and who
also exported dreamdust to the colony on Pluto, where the weed could not
be grown.
Seven or eight others showed up occasionally at Hawkes' apartment. Alan
was introduced to them all, and then generally dropped out of the
conversation, which usually consisted of reminiscences and gossip about
people he did not know.
But as the days passed, one thing became evident: Hawkes might not be a
criminal himself, but certainly most of his friends operated on the far
side of the law. Hawkes had seen to it that they stayed away from the
apartment during the first few months of Alan's Earther education; but
now that the ex-starman was an accomplished gambler and fairly well
skilled in self-defense, all of Hawkes' old friends were returning once
again.
Day by day Alan increasingly realized how innocent and childlike a
starman's life was. The _Valhalla_ was a placid little world of 176
people, bound together by so many ties that there was rarely any
conflict. Here on Earth, though, life was tough and hard.
He was lucky. He had stumbled into Hawkes early in his wanderings. With
a little less luck he might have had the same sort of life Steve had
had ... or John Byng. It was not fun to think about that.
Usually when Hawkes had friends visiting him late at night, Alan would
sit up for a while listening, and then excuse himself and get some
sleep. As he lay in bed he could hear low whispering, and once he woke
toward morning and heard the conversation still going on. He strained
his ears, but did not pick up anything.
One night early in October he had come home from the games parlor and,
finding nobody home, had gone immediately to sleep. Some time later he
heard Hawkes and his friends come in, but he was too tired to get out of
bed and greet them. He rolled over and went back to sleep.
But later that night he felt hands touching him, and he opened an eye to
see Hawkes bending over him.
"It's me--Max. Are you awake?"
"No," Alan muttered indistinctly.
Hawkes shook him several times. "Come on--get up and put some clothes
on. Some people here who want to talk to you."
Only half comprehending, Alan clambered unwillingly from bed, dressed,
and splashed cold water in his face. He followed Hawkes back inside.
The living room was crowded. Seven or eight men were there--the ones
Alan thought of as the inner circle of Hawkes' cronies. Johnny Byng,
Mike Kovak, Al Webber, Lorne Hollis, and some others. Sleepily Alan
nodded at them and took a seat, wondering why Hawkes had dragged him out
of bed for this.
Hawkes looked at him sharply. "Alan, you know all these people, don't
you?"
Alan nodded. He was still irritated at Hawkes; he had been sound asleep.
"You're now facing ninety per cent of what we've come to call the Hawkes
Syndicate," Hawkes went on. "These eight gentlemen and myself have
formed the organization recently for a certain specific purpose. More of
that in a few minutes. What I got you out here to tell you was that
there's room in our organization for one more man, and that you fit the
necessary qualifications."
"Me?"
Hawkes smiled. "You. We've all been watching you since you came to live
with me, testing you, studying you. You're adaptable, strong,
intelligent. You learn fast. We had a little vote tonight, and decided
to invite you in."
Alan wondered if he were still asleep or not. What was all this talk of
syndicates? He looked round the circle, and realized that this bunch
could be up to no good.