"Worse," the little Martian was matter-of-fact.
"I believe you." He looked long and hard at the Martian. "I remember
you now. Name's Kueelo. You were with me last night--"
Kueelo grinned, showing the stumps of yellowish teeth. "Correction.
Four nights ago. That's when it began."
Latham climbed to his feet. The reaction was going away but there was
still a dull apathy about his brain. Just to think was an aching
effort.
"Four days," he muttered. "How'd I come here?"
"So you don't remember that? You came on the pleasure yacht. The one
from Turibek."
* * * * *
"Turibek--" Latham was remembering now. Turibek, capital city of
Venus, far on the other side of the planet. He'd had a small stake and
was lucky at the gaming tables. Before that it was Callisto, where he
had struck it rich in the iridium fields; anyway, rich enough to keep
him supplied with tsith for a year. Before Callisto it had been Mars.
He had worked the rocket rooms of Jovian freighters, he had served as
tourist guide in the dark little streets of Ganymede City, and when
fortune was lowest he had begged in those streets and done worse
things than begging. Before that he couldn't remember. He went
wherever whim and fortune took him, but the whims were short-lived and
the fortune invariably ended at the bottom of a glass. The deadly
tsith twisted his brain awry and took its toll and drove him on. He
had been "on the beach" on half a dozen planets. Earth he shunned. He
hadn't set foot there in more years than he could remember. At first
it was because he was ashamed, but even that was gone now. Only a cold
sickness was left in the soul of Joel Latham.
He stared at this fellow tsith hound, this shell of a Martian, and
said, "What happened last night?"
"What always happens," Kueelo said wearily. "We used up all our
credit. Penger kicked us out."
It took Joel Latham a full minute to absorb that piece of information.
Mixed up with the agony in his eyes was a pensive look, but no
resentment; his need just now was too dire for resentment. He stared
across the swamp at the outpost's straggling street. Jake Penger was
the law here, and he owned the only supply of tsith. Latham recalled
him vaguely, a huge man, inscrutable, uncompromising.
"Penger," he muttered. "That's it. I knew there was something I was
going to do."
"What were you going to do?" Kueelo moved in closer, a sudden light of
interest in his eyes.
"See Penger, of course."
"Why?"
"I need tsith! And I'm going to need it worse before this day's over."
Kueelo's eyes went dull again. "We both do. How do you think you're
going to manage it?"
"I'll show you. Never let it be said that Joel Latham was helpless in
face of an emergency." With unsteady fingers he began a search of his
clothes. And that's when the final realization descended upon Joel
Latham. These weren't his clothes, not the ones he had when he came
here.
He stared into the Martian's mango-like face. "I had a lucky piece. An
ancient Deimian jewel set in platinum. It's always been good for
credit."
Kueelo's sigh was like a wind through withered leaves. "That," he
said, "was used up two nights ago."
"I had a dis-gun, too! What happened to it?"
"We used that up last night. Penger allowed us four drinks apiece for
it."