This is the sort of place Uncle used to stop. Before he'd lost her in a card game when she was about seven. She felt her shoulders hunch, her face tighten. Her body remembered those years; the feral child was still there, hiding inside the skin of the civilized young woman.
The professionals were out, too. Down here they didn't just saunter; you got detailed propositions. Complete with anatomical details so lurid that she blinked.
"What you said about my succumbing to soft living would seem to be true, Joat," Joseph whispered in her ear. "I, who grew up on the docks of Keriss, find myself embarrassed!"
Joat grinned at him. "At least you don't smell of cop."
The Bethelite nodded. "In Keriss too we could always smell a thief-taker," he said. "Still, I remember a little more discretion from the Daughters of Joy."
"Don't be embarrassed," she said. "This bunch're way saltier than average. They're beginning to get to me too."
Alvec leered. "Y'oughta be storing this stuff up for use on Rohan. New Destinies is a deacon's convention next to that."
"Do you speak as one who knows?" Joseph asked, his voice cool. Alvec bristled.
"Tell me something," Joat said. "Why is it that men-even smart ones-are dumb as iridium ingots while they're settling who's big bull baboon?"
Alvec snorted. Joseph raised his eyebrows-a habit he'd picked up from Amos-and chuckled. "Women are more subtle about it," he admitted. "I will try not to leap, gibber, or scratch my armpits too often in your presence, saiyda."
The Rimrunner was an Earth-style bar with furniture that only accommodated the humanoid form. The windows were one-way, opaque on the outside, with colorful advertisements for liquor flashing across the dirty black surface. Inside they gave a clear, if not clean, view of the street.
They made their way to an empty table, covertly studying the other patrons, who studied them in turn. Some of the men and women sitting at the tables or standing at the bar were sleazy-gaudy like most of the crowd outside; there were a few in conservative business jumpsuits, a few too well dressed, and a number in spacers coveralls. Those looked neater. You couldn't be messy on a vehicle with boost, not really. Not if you wanted to live.
A bored and blowzy waitress slouched over and took their order. When she'd returned with their drinks and departed with an air of never planning to return, they sat quietly and sipped grimly for awhile. Conversation had died when they walked in, and was slow to revive. Most eyes were on the holo over the bar-an act showing surprising gymnastic skill, among other things-with occasional darts in their direction.
Finally, Joat leaned towards her crew and murmured: "So, Al, is there something we do? Talk to the bartender, put a note on the bulletin board, walk around shouting we want to smuggle, or what?"
"Someone'll come over," he murmured. "They're just checkin' us out."
They sat a little longer and Joat began to drum her fingers on the table. Two of them had sticky ends from a film of something on the surface.
"That's it," she said finally, putting her hands flat on the tabletop to push herself to her feet "I don't really want to do this anyway-"
A pale, thin-faced man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard was suddenly at her elbow. He wore a black jumpsuit with flared sleeves, which might be hiding anything.
"You're, uh, Captain Simeon-Hap, aren't you?" he asked quietly.
Three pairs of eyes bored into the stranger as he reversed the empty chair at their table and laid an open messager on the surface, sitting with his arms resting on the chairback.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
Joat shook her head. "You already have," she pointed out.
"Word is you've fallen on interesting times," he said, and smiled. Like the rest of him, the smile was thin and vicious-looking. "As in the curse."
She raised her brows. "Word gets around fast."
"Is it true?"
She sighed. "Yeah. It's true." She smiled in her turn, tight and controlled and dangerous. "We're gonna drink the money we have left."
Something invisible relaxed in the thin man's posture. "No need. Let me buy you a round." He looked pointedly at Joseph and Alvec. "Would you guys mind placing the order? Lisha will bring ours over to us, but you'll probably prefer to drink yours at the bar."
They looked at Joat, and rose at her nod. Joat could sense their reluctance, but they were both too experienced to queer her pitch. Nobody would want to book space with a captain who couldn't command her crew; particularly not people who wanted to be sure that their cargo got to its destination without inspection.
When Al and Joseph reached the bar they leaned against it, putting their weight on their elbows as if they were completing a journey of a thousand miles and their feet hurt.
"What'll it be, gents?"
"Arrack?" Joseph asked hopefully.
The bartender shook his head. "We got gin, we got whisky, we got beer…"
"Earth beer?" Alvec asked straightening.
"Four kinds," the bartender named them.
Alvec slapped Joseph's arm with the back of his hand
"Ya gotta try this stuff," he said. "You're gonna love it!"
Joseph looked skeptical but nodded.
"Two," he said. He looked briefly in Joat's direction.
"Don't worry," Alvec said. "It's nothin' she can't handle."
Joseph sighed. "Yes, no doubt you are right. Still…" He shook his head. Then he looked around, as though really noticing the bar for the first time.
"It is amazing," he said, "Except for the signs, this tavern could be on Bethel. It is like any number of places on the docks where I grew up."
"Yeah," Alvec sighed nostalgically. "Me too. I think they invented a place like this back on Earth, and they've been shippin' them out wholesale from the same factory ever since."
"C.O.D.?" Joat asked in disbelief. "You expect me to ship this cash on delivery?"
"Captain, smuggling is like any other business. There has to be an element of trust or nothing can happen." He smiled his thin smile again, showing a sliver of teeth. "For example, we're trusting you not to fly off somewhere and sell the cargo."
You're trusting that I know what happens to people who try to stiff the Organization, she thought. The criminal equivalent of the Better Business Bureau wasn't a formal league, but it did have a strong, working joint policy on welchers.
"Nobody ships interstellar C.O.D.," she said firmly. "At the very least I'll need credits up front that will pay the expense of the trip. I'm not interested in getting to Schwartztarr and finding out that this has been a joke."
He pursed his lips. "So, what would that come to?"
"Two thousand," she said firmly.
He raised his brows and laughed faintly.
"You'd better check your engines, Captain. Your fuel consumption is way off the mark."
"I'm going to have to bribe my way off this station. I consider that a legitimate," she smiled briefly, "expense of the trip."
"They're supposed to let you continue to operate your business so you can pay your fine."
"Yeah, and they're not supposed to fine me the value of my ship for a misdemeanor, too. Two thousand up front, my man; twenty-five thousand on delivery. I won't even consider it without."