surveillance equipment in every one of those dives would short it out as soon as he crossed the threshold. She could only monitor the station newsgrids, look for more clues about 'their' ship, and hope his acting ability was as good as he thought it was.
Alex had learned the trick of drinking with someone when you wanted to stay sober a long time ago. All it took was a little sleight of hand. You let the quarry drain his drink, switch his with yours, and let him drain the second, then call for another round. After three rounds, he wouldn't even notice you weren't drinking, particularly not when you were buying the drinks.
Thank the spirits of space for a MedService credit account.
He started out in the 'Pink Comet', whose neon decorations more than outmatched his jumpsuit He learned quickly enough there that the commodities he wanted weren't being offered, although the rebuff was friendly enough, coming from the bartender after he had already stood the whole house a round. In fact, the commodities being offered were more in the line of quasi-legal services, rather than goods. The bartender didn't know who might have what he wanted, but he knew who would know and sent Alex on to the 'Rimrunners'.
Several rounds later, he suffered through a comical interlude where he encountered someone who thought he was buying feelie-porn and sex-droids, and another with an old rock-rat who insisted that what he wanted was not artifacts but primitive art 'There's no money in them arty-facts no more,' the old boy insisted, banging the table with a gnarled fist. 'Them accountants don't want arty-facts, the damn market's glutted with 'em! I'm tellin' ya, primitive art is the next thing!'
It took Alex getting the old sot drunk to extract himself from the man, which might have been what the rock-rat intended in the first place. By then he discovered that the place he really wanted to be was the 'Rockwall'. In the 'Rockwall', he hit paydirt, all right, but not precisely what he had been looking for.
The bar had an odd sort of quiet ambience; a no-nonsense non-human bartender, an unobtrusive bouncer who outweighed Alex by half again his own weight, and a series of little enclosed table-nooks where the acoustics were such that no sound escaped the table area. Lighting was subdued, the place was immaculately clean, the prices not outrageously inflated. Whatever deals went on here, they were discrete.
Alex made it known to the bartender what he was looking for and took a seat at one of the tables. In short order, his credit account had paid for a gross of Betari funeral urns, twenty soapstone figurines of Ruykedan snake- goddesses, three exquisite Utde crystal Kanathi skulls that were probably worth enough that the Institute and Medical would forgive him anything else he bought, and, of all bizarre things to see out here, a Hopi kachina figure of Owl Dancer from old Terra herself. The latter was probably stolen from another crewman. Alex made a promise to himself to find the owner and get it back to him, or her. It was not an artifact as such, but it might well represent a precious bit of tribal heritage to someone who was so far from home and tribe that the loss of this kachina could be a devastating blow.
His credit account had paid for these things, but those he did business with were paid in cash. Simply enough done, as he discovered at the first transaction. The seller ordered a 'Rock'n'Run', the bartender came to the table with a cashbox. Alex signed a credit chit for the amount of sale plus ten percent to the bar; the bartender paid the seller. Everyone was happy.
He'd spoken with several more crewmen of various odd ships, prompting, without seeming to, replies concerning rumors of disease or of plague ships. He got old stories he'd heard before, the Betan Dutchman, the Homecoming, the Alice Bee. All ships and tales from previous decades; nothing new.
He stayed until closing, making the bartender stretch his 'lips' in a cheerful 'smile' at the size of the bills he was paying, and making the wait-beings argue over who got to serve him next with the size of his tips. He had remembered what Jon Chernov had told him once about Intel people. They have to account for every half-credit they spend, so they're as tightfisted as a corporate accountant at tax time. If you're ever doing Intel work, be a big spender. They'll never suspect you. And better a docked paycheck for overspending than a last look at the business end of a needier.
Just before closing was when the Quiet Man came in. As unobtrusive as they came, Alex didn't realize the man was in the bar until he caught a glimpse of him talking with the bartender. And he didn't realize that he was coming towards Alex's table until he was standing there,
'I understand you're buying things,' the Quiet Man breathed. 'I have some,... things.'
He opened his hand, briefly, to display a miniature vase or bottle, a lovely thing with a rainbow sheen and a style that seemed oddly familiar, although Alex couldn't place it As if one had fused Art Nouveau with Salvadore Dali, it had a skewed but fascinating sinuousity.
'That's the sort of merchandise I'm interested in, all right,' Alex said agreeably, as he racked his brain, trying to place where he had seen a piece like it before. 'The trouble is, it looks a little expensive for my pocket.'
The Quiet Man slid in opposite Alex at a nod. 'Not as expensive as you think,' the Quiet Man replied. 'The local market's glutted with this stuff.' The Quiet Man's exterior matched his speech; gray jumpsuit, pale skin, colorless eyes and hair, features that were utterly average. 'I have about a hundred little pieces like this and I haven't been able to unload them, and that's a fact'
'I appreciate your honesty,' Alex told him, allowing his surprise to show through.
The Quiet Man shrugged. 'You'd find it out sooner or later. The bosses only wanted the big stuff. Some of the other guys took jewelry; I thought they were crazy, since it was only titanium, and the pieces weren't comfortable to wear and a little flimsy. But some of the earlier crews must have brought back these perfume bottles, because I haven't been able to dump even one. I was hoping if you were buying for another sector, you'd be interested. I can give you a good deal on the lot.'
