"Not unless it's worth robbing," McCade said dryly, pulling out a cigar and puffing it into life.
And then an interesting thing happened. A tall black woman stepped into the bar and stopped as the three hardcases blocked her way. She wore a seamless, black one-piece suit and two blasters, one low on her right thigh, the other in a shoulder holster under her left arm. Except for a round island of kinky black hair on the very top of her skull, her head was shaved, and she was very beautiful. Her eyes flashed when she spoke. "Either get out of my way . . . or make your move." Her fingers hung just above the butt of her blaster.
The three hardcases just stood there, fingers twitching, trying to decide. They'd seen her in action, and knew that even with the odds on their side, the outcome was still in doubt. Even if they won it would be a close thing.
As the seconds ticked slowly by, McCade blew smoke at the mirror, and allowed his left hand to drift down toward his handgun. Finally, when the moment was stretched thin, one of the men said, "This isn't over, Mara."
"Thanks for the warning," she replied calmly. "I'll watch my back." Then she walked straight toward them, showing no surprise when they parted to let her through.
She seemed to take the bar in with one sweeping glance, her eyes stopping on McCade as she headed for the bar. McCade turned in time to see the hardcases leave the bar, and to accept her out-thrust hand.
She had a strong grip and a low melodious voice. "Welcome to Wind World. I'm Mara, the Walkers of The Way sent me to meet you." She looked from one to another. "Which one of you is Sam McCade?"
"I am," McCade replied, "and I'd like you to meet my friends, Rico and Phil." As Rico and Phil said their hellos, McCade had already taken a liking to her, and knew his friends had too. Rico insisted on giving her his seat, while Phil kissed her hand, something most men couldn't do gracefully, but which worked somehow when the big variant did it.
Then a brief battle was fought to see who would buy her a drink, with Rico emerging the winner, and Mara laughing at the competition. "Really, gentlemen, this will never do. I'm supposed to guide you to Chimehome, not sit around while you buy me drinks."
"Chimehome?" McCade asked.
Mara threw her drink back and nodded. "Chimehome's the name of the Walker monastery. Say, where's my old friend Pollard? Isn't he with you?"
At first McCade didn't understand, then he realized that "Pollard" must be Walker's real name. For a moment he said nothing, stubbing out his cigar, and stalling for time. Finally he looked up into deep brown eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mara, but Pollard's dead. Right after he programmed that message torp and sent it your way he was killed. He saved my life, along with quite a few others."
He saw his words hit Mara like physical blows. She looked down at the surface of the bar and closed her eyes. It didn't take a genius to see that Mara and Pollard had been more than just friends. They sat that way for a couple of minutes, Mara silent and withdrawn, the three men awkward and embarrassed. Then she looked up and smiled, twin tracks marking the path of the tears which had trickled down her cheeks. "This round is on me."
As if by magic, Momma appeared with a new round of drinks, and then waddled away to serve other customers. Mara raised her glass. "To one helluva man."
"To one helluva man," the others echoed, and drained their glasses.
"Tell me about Pollard," Mara asked softly.
So McCade told her: how they'd met, the plan they'd agreed on, and how her friend had died. To his surprise she showed no further signs of grief as he spoke. She laughed when he described how Pollard invaded his hallucinations, nodded while he explained their plan, and winced when he told her about the door. But she didn't cry, and remembering his own farewell at Pollard's grave, McCade knew that at least for the moment, she too had found a way to deal with his death.
When he'd finished both were silent for a moment. Hoping to take her mind off Pollard, and genuinely curious, McCade cleared his throat. "Now it's your turn. Tell me all about a beautiful lady who packs two blasters . . . and doesn't step aside for anyone."
Mara laughed. "You make me sound so dangerous! There isn't much to tell. I was born on an ag planet called Weller's World. Ever heard of it?"
McCade nodded. "I've been there."
"You're one of the few," Mara replied with a grin. "Anyway, my mother died while I was still quite young, and my father raised me. He's the one who taught me how to fight. 'When it's you or them, honey,' he used to say, 'make damn sure it's them.'"
"Words to live by," McCade agreed solemnly, sipping his drink.
"Ain't it the truth," Mara said, her face softening. "He never told me everything, but I suspect he was a soldier of fortune . . . or maybe something worse before settling on Weller's World. I know this for a fact, during my childhood he never worked a single day on-planet, yet we lived quite well. Once each year he always went off-planet saying, 'I've got some business to take care of, honey . . . I'll be back in a few weeks.' And sure enough, a few weeks later he'd be back, wearing a big smile and loaded down with presents."
Mara frowned. "I didn't think anything of it, back then, but now I believe those trips were somehow connected with money, and whatever he did to get it. Anyway the years passed, and as my father grew older, he became increasingly interested in religion. He was never willing to admit it, but I suspect the prospect of death scared him, and like many others, he hoped to find some guarantee of continued existence. Yes, please."
Mara paused while Momma freshened her drink, and then picked up where she'd left off. "During his research, Father came across occasional mention of the Walkers and their philosophy. For some reason it fascinated him. The funny thing was he didn't know that much about them or 'The Way,' but nonetheless he became certain they were right. Somewhere he learned of the monastery here on Wind World, and decided to come." Mara smiled as she remembered. "Frankly I opposed it, but his mind was made up, and he was determined to go, with or without me."
Mara looked up into McCade's eyes. "By this time Father was quite elderly. I couldn't let him go alone. So we sold our place on Weller's World, and hopped a series of freighters, eventually landing here. During the trip, Father's health deteriorated, and by the time we arrived was quite bad. At his insistence we finished the trip to Chimehome, and he died a month later. His last words to me were, 'Take care, honey, I'll be around.' And you know what?"
McCade shook his head.
"Every now and then I think he is . . . although maybe it's just my memories of him. Anyway, after Father's death, the Walkers invited me to stay and I accepted. I've learned a lot . . . and used some of the things Father taught me to help out." Her right hand strayed to the butt of a blaster. "Meeting you is a good example."
McCade smiled. "We can sure use the help."
Mara looked thoughtful for a moment. "And that brings us back to the present. Something you said is bothering me. Something about Pollard launching a message torp. What message did he send?"
McCade lifted one eyebrow in surprise. "Beats me. I just assumed it was his way of letting you know about us. You mean the torp never arrived?"
Mara smiled and shook her head.
"Then how did you know we were coming?"
She laughed. "How did Pollard get inside your head?"
McCade looked her right in the eye, and knew she wasn't kidding. "I don't believe it."
"The facts speak for themselves," she replied lightly. "We haven't received a torp, but I knew your name, your mission, and approximate time of arrival. All were given to me before I left Chimehome." She chuckled. "It sure sounds like Pollard. Like you, he always had trouble believing in anything beyond the physical, and therefore doubted his own abilities. It would be just like him to use a message torp as a backup."
It all seemed pretty strange to McCade, but as Mara pointed out, the facts seemed to support her contention that Pollard had used nonphysical means to send his superiors a message. If so, what had happened to the torp? They weren't infallible, but they were fairly reliable, and it seemed strange that it hadn't shown up. He felt a cold hand grab his stomach. What if Claudia had managed to intercept the damned thing? It would be just like the miserable bitch. He picked up his glass and finished off his drink. As he turned toward the others, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and plastered a grin on his face. "Well, here's to a quick and successful journey."
The Nuags filled the dimly lit staging area with their bad-tempered grunting and the stench of their excrement. Tons of flesh pushed and shoved, eager to reach the succulent roller bushes just dumped into their pen. The smaller animals, males mostly, were quickly pushed toward the rear while the dominant cows took their rightful positions in the front. Like pink snakes their long, greedy feeding tentacles slithered out from under leathery gray armor, to snatch up prickly round balls of vegetation and pull them back toward hungry mouths. It wasn't a pretty sight. The sounds that went with it weren't all that great either, McCade decided, as the nearest cow put away another roller bush, slurping and gurgling with happiness. In addition to their other unpleasant traits, Mara informed him Nuags were also lazy, stubborn, and not very bright. In other words they'd make outstanding admirals, McCade thought.
"So why keep them around?" he asked.
"Because," she answered, "they are also big, strong, and perfectly happy to spend the night in the middle of a storm which would kill us. All of which makes them perfect for hauling you around."
"Couldn't we use a nice cozy crawler instead?" McCade asked wistfully, imagining one equipped with a small, but serviceable bar, and some comfortable bunks.
"Because," Mara replied patiently, "our storms tend to pick up crawlers, and toss them around like leathers, something which rarely happens to Nuags. Follow me and you'll see why."
So he followed her down to the staging area where the Nuag convoys were loaded and unloaded. It was a huge man-made cave which served as both a barn and warehouse. At the moment the place was packed with milling Nuags. Mara was forced to shout over her noisy subjects.
"Look at how they're shaped!" Mara shouted. McCade looked, and saw that most Nuags were about thirty feet high, and forty feet long. Their smoothly rounded gray armor made them look like huge beetles. Only beetles have heads and Nuags don't. In fact, with the exception of some narrow breathing vents, their exterior coverings were completely smooth. "The wind just flows over and around them," Mara yelled. "They can travel during even the worst storms."
McCade nodded his understanding, and followed as she waded into their midst, kicking, pushing, and swearing. Much to McCade's surprise, the Nuags did what Mara told them, albeit reluctantly, as if respecting anyone as mean and crotchety as they were. As she shoved her way through the crowd, McCade did his best to avoid their prodigious droppings, making a face at her when she turned and laughed.
"They may be ugly, Sam, but once you've tried getting somewhere without them, they start looking a lot better. Besides," she shouted, adopting a professional air, "each one is a masterpiece of evolutionary engineering. Take those breathing vents for example." She pointed toward the nearest Nuag. "Each one is protected by a flap which closes automatically when the wind hits it. Meanwhile the ones on the opposite slope of the mantle remain open, allowing the Nuag to breathe. Neat, huh?"
"Incredible," McCade agreed, ducking as one of the miserable beasts relieved itself of sufficient gas to power a small city.
Mara laughed. "It's a good thing you weren't smoking a cigar. Now, take a look at this." She hammered her fist on the side of the nearest animal. Its armor started to flex, and then curled slowly upward, until it was about four feet off the ground. "After you," she said politely, delivering a formal bow.
"You're too kind," McCade replied dryly, ducking under the edge of the raised armor. She followed, the Nuag's protective covering dropping into place behind her.
To McCade's surprise, he found the interior to be well lit, and rather spacious. The light originated from some chem strips fastened to the animal's belly with some sort of adhesive. But even more interesting was the large gondola suspended below the Nuag's midsection by a massive harness. The gondola was made of light plastic boasting both windows and a door. Taking a peek inside McCade saw comfortable seats, an array of darkened viewscreens, and even a tiny galley. He groaned.
"Don't tell me, let me guess. We get to travel in this thing."
Mara shook her head in pretended amazement. "Amazing. It'll be tough putting anything over on you."
McCade decided to ignore her sarcasm. "How the hell do these things see anyway? I didn't notice anything resembling eyes out there."
Mara nodded. "Right, there weren't any. Follow me."
McCade followed her toward the front of the animal. He noticed it had no head to speak of, just a rounded area above its chest, which was mostly mouth. At the moment two feeding tentacles were busily stuffing a gray roller bush into the large pink maw. Mara pointed, and McCade saw there was a single eye located just below the Nuag's mouth, right in the middle of its massive chest. The eye was red in color, and seemed to regard McCade with considerable hostility. "Their eyes are located down here," Mara said, "safe from windblown dust and sand."
McCade looked up from the Nuag's baleful red eye, and into her pretty brown ones. "Kind of a limited point of view, isn't it?"
She shook her head. "Not really. First you must realize that because of the frequent storms, the surface visibility is often zero. And second, it happens that Nuags have no natural predators other than man. And, since they navigate using some sort of biological direction finder we haven't figured out yet, all they have to see is the next few feet of trail."
"Very impressive," McCade said politely, eyeing the gondola dubiously. "How far did you say it was to this Chimehome place?"