"Well, maybe they would," she snarled. "What are you doing, playing cop
or something? Look, I want on that rocket. I've got to get aboard it.
You're a Free Agent. You can go wherever you like--and so can anyone
who's with you, if you vouch for him. They can't touch you. And you're
scared, you've been scared ever since you left the Records Bureau last
night. It sticks out all over you--"
"All right, maybe I am!"
"Maybe you want something."
He turned on her sharply. Something in his mind was screaming a protest
at the idea that was forming in his mind, but he shrugged it off. So
maybe it was illegal, maybe even criminal--was what they had done
to him any less criminal? "I want records," he said softly. "I want
information and records. I want them very much."
"I can get them for you."
"The records I want are restricted."
"Do tell."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean if they're on paper they can be bought."
"I have no money."
"Well, I have." She looked up at him sharply. "I've got enough money to
buy passage to Venus. It can buy information if I can get free passage
to Venus. It can buy information like nothing."
He sat down, his face very close to hers. "I want to know what's
happened to other Free Agents," he said. "I can give you some names. I
want their records, everything that's known about them, where they've
gone, where they are now. I want them in a hurry."
The girl stared at him for a long minute. "You _are_ scared," she said.
She lit a cigarette, and tossed the match on the floor. "Let's get
moving," she said.
* * * * *
She said her name was Nan Baker, and that was about all she would
say. Griffin doubted even that, but he didn't press conversation as
they left the surface car at the Lower Level junction, and moved down
the roads and alleys into the depths of the Old City. The itinerary
itself was more illuminating than any words; her very familiarity with
their route offered more lethal insight into the girl's background
and motives and trustworthiness than anything she could possibly have
told him. She knew her way through this jungle of crowded, dilapidated
buildings; without hesitation they threaded their way through a
bewildering tangle of dirty streets and darkened alleys.
Some of the buildings were in ruins, but many still showed signs
of dismal habitation. This was the Old City, the area of decay and
violence and crime where no one in his right mind would think of going,
or allow himself to be taken. It was the crumbling ruin of the earlier
city that had been here, ignored by advancing architecture and a more
savory society, its reputation falling to the level of the dregs who
had sunk here. And the girl found her way through the streets with an
air of long familiarity.
They moved down a long, dank tunnel, formed of dripping concrete and
decaying beams, obviously an old viaduct, long since decaying in
disuse. At the far end was a building with a screen across the window.
There was the sound of a juke box, and a roar of loud laughter as they
stepped inside and shouldered through the crowd of people sitting at
the long bar in the half-light.
A woman was dancing on a walkway behind the bar, totally nude, and
the crowd were laughing and shouting at her as a sick-looking drummer
pounded a cymbal and the juke box whined. Griffin followed the girl
through the fringes of the crowd and back along a dark, dripping
corridor. They found a room, a frowsy makeshift of a dressing room that
reeked of cheap perfume and dead rats. The girl motioned him inside.
"You wait here. I'll be back."
Ten minutes later she returned, followed by a short, obese individual
who sank down on a chair and regarded Griffin with pale, dead eyes.
"Got yourself a Retread friend, huh?" he said to the girl, jerking a
fat thumb at Griffin.