As we explored the west end, we started hearing voices and music. We followed the sounds around a corner and found a crowded bar. Staring through the window, I saw several Marines. They had removed their helmets, which sat on the table. When I scanned the helmets, I recognized the names from my platoon.
“This must be the place,” said Lee.
“I hope they have food,” I said. I opened the door, and dozens of Marines turned to greet me. Sitting in the center of this ungodly pack, happily waving a cigar as he spoke, was Master Gunnery Sergeant Tabor Shannon.
One private placed his helmet over his head so he could read our identifiers as we entered. “It’s Lee and Harris,” he said to the others.
“The illustrious honor guard has finally found its way,” Shannon said. “Hello, Lee. Hello, Harris.”
“Sergeant,” I said.
“I’ll get the drinks this time,” Lee said.
“I don’t get it,” I said as I started to sit down. “Are we on duty or off?”
Shannon smiled behind his cigar, then uttered a few curses. “On duty. Klyber is using us as”—he considered for a moment—“as a diplomatic bargaining chip. He wants to show the locals how easy it would be for this visit to turn into a long-term occupation.”
“Drinking sounds like a good occupation to me,” one private said.
“Not occupation as in job, moron!” another private said.
“Oh,” the first one responded.
“That’s the kid that found the bar,” Shannon said, pointing at the private with his cigar. “He’s been soaking up beers for hours.”
“So, are we on our best behavior?” I asked.
Shannon smiled. “In this case, bad is good.” He nodded at the drunk private. “This boy’s going to empty his stomach somewhere, probably right outside that door. Usually that would get him a night in the brig; but tonight, it will go unnoticed. Klyber wants to show the respectable politicos of Rising Sun just how much they don’t want us around. A little puke leaves a lasting impression.”
Shannon leaned forward. “Harris, did you know you have a friend in town.”
“A friend?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Shannon. “It appears that the Japanese are not the only ones keeping their bloodlines pure on this rock.” Shannon turned and gazed toward the far side of the bar. “That guy was asking about you.”
I stood up and looked around the room. At the other end of the building, Ray Freeman sat with an untouched beer. The top of the table was level with the tops of Freeman’s thighs. He looked like an adult sitting on children’s play furniture.
“Know him?” Shannon asked.
“I know him. His name is Ray Freeman. He’s the mercenary I met on Gobi.”
Freeman looked over at me from his table. His eyes had their same dark intensity, but his mouth formed a cheerful smile. The overall effect was unsettling.
“You would not believe how much they charge for a damn beer,” Lee said as he returned with two huge mugs. “For these prices…” He saw me staring at Freeman. “Friend of yours?”
“That’s the mercenary that Admiral Brocius sent to Gobi,” I said.
“Looks dangerous,” Lee said. “Are you planning on talking to him?”
“He doesn’t talk much,” I said. “But I am curious about what he might have to say.”
“I’m coming with you,” Lee said.
“Do you think he wants trouble?” Shannon asked.
“If Ray Freeman came looking for trouble, I doubt I would have made it to the bar alive,” I said. “He’s worse than he looks.”
“I don’t know how that could be, Harris,” Lee said. “He looks pretty bad.”
Freeman stood and smiled down at me as Lee and I walked over. “Well, hello, Wayson. Been a long time. How is life in the Corps?” His voice had an overly friendly quality. First Barry, then Klyber, then Freeman. It was my day for seeing painted smiles.
“Is he always this chatty?” Lee asked over the interLink.
“What brings you to Scutum-Crux?” I asked. Freeman sat down and waved to the empty chairs around his table. Lee and I joined him. We must have looked odd, two men in combat armor sitting beside a bald-headed giant.
“I’m here on business,” Freeman said.
“Anybody we know, Mr….” Lee let his voice trail off.
“Sorry,” Freeman said, still sounding friendly. “Call me Ray.”
“Vince Lee.”
“I guess Wayson has told you what I do.”
“Sounds as if you do it well, too, at least if everything Harris says is true.”
“I suspect Corporal Harris has exaggerated the story,” Freeman said.
“He might have,” Lee said. He removed his helmet. “No use letting my beer get warm. You’re not drinking yours?” The head on Freeman’s beer had gone flat.
“Actually, I only bought the beer to help me blend in,” Freeman said.
“I don’t think it’s working,” I said. “So is your target in the bar?”
“No, I came here looking for you. I heard your platoon was stationed in Rising Sun. This seemed like the best place to watch for you.”
“What a coincidence,” I said, not believing a word of it. “Both me and your target came to the same planet.”
I took off my helmet and took a long drag of beer. “Are you still looking for Crowley?”
“I have a score to settle,” Freeman said, “but that is not why I am here. I bumped into another friend of yours from Gobi earlier today. In fact, he’s staying in the hotel across the street.”
“Really?” I said. I took another drink, nearly finishing my beer. “Who is it?” Names and faces passed through my mind.
“I was hoping to surprise the both of you,” Freeman said. “You know what would be funny, you and Vince can trade helmets, and we can surprise the guy. You know, so you don’t have that identifier …just in case he’s wearing his helmet.”
Lee and I looked at each other. As far as I knew, the only people in Rising Sun with combat helmets flew in on the Kamehameha. Freeman had some scheme in the works, but I could not think what it might be, and I did not trust him.
“That doesn’t sound like such a good idea,” I said.
“Nothing is going to happen to you, Wayson,” Freeman said, sounding slightly wounded. “It will be fun.”
“Who are we surprising?” I asked.
“You wouldn’t want me to spoil the surprise.”
“I don’t mind trading,” Lee offered.
“Tell you what,” Freeman said. He dug through his wallet and pulled out a bill. “It’s worth twenty bucks to me to have you guys trade helmets.”
“I don’t know about this,” I said. The more Freeman tried to act breezy and conversational, the more ghoulish he sounded. I wanted to warn Lee over the interLink, but he had removed his helmet.
“You still don’t trust me?” Freeman said.
“Twenty dollars?” Lee asked. He gulped down his beer. “What can it hurt?”
“Thanks,” Freeman said, sounding pleased. “I’ll pick up your next round, too.”
“Don’t worry about it, Harris,” Lee said. “I’ll just head back with the rest of the platoon.”
Lee’s hanging back with the platoon sounded good to me. I could not think of any reason why Freeman might want to hurt Lee, but I still did not trust him.
Lee grabbed my helmet, and I took his.
“Look, Wayson, I need to pay the check. Why don’t you head across the street, and I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby.”
I took one last look at Lee, then put on his helmet. “Damn,” I whispered. Whatever he’d eaten for lunch had left a foul-smelling ghost in his rebreather. I got up from the bar and walked toward the door. Shannon and a few other soldiers waved as I left.
The street was completely empty by that time. I checked for cars, then trotted across the street to the hotel.
The outside of the hotel was built out of that same thick crystal—very likely an indigenous mineral of some kind. The lobby, however, was not so elegant. Poorly lit and cheaply decorated, it had metal furniture and a scuffed-up check-in desk. The unshaved clerk at the desk watched me as I entered the lobby, but said nothing.