_Chapter Eleven_
They adjourned to a small tavern three doors down 68th Avenue from thegames parlor, an old-fashioned tavern with manually operated doors andstuffed moose heads over the bar. Alan and Hawkes took seats next toeach other in a booth in back; Steve sat facing them.
The barkeep came scuttling out--no robot in here, just a tired-faced oldman--and took their orders. Hawkes called for beer, Steve for whiskey;Alan did not order.
He sat staring at his brother's oddly changed face. Steve wastwenty-six. From Alan's seventeen-year-old vantage-point, that seemedtremendously old, well past the prime of life.
He said, "The _Valhalla_ landed on Earth a few days ago. We're bound outfor Procyon in a few days."
"So?"
"The Captain would like to see you again, Steve."
Steve stared moodily at his drink without speaking, for a long moment.Alan studied him. Less than two months had passed for Alan since Stevehad jumped ship; he still remembered how his twin had looked. There hadbeen something smouldering in Steve's eyes then, a kind of rebelliousfire, a smoky passion. That was gone now. It had burned out long ago. Inits place Alan saw only tiny red veins--the bloodshot eyes of a man whohad been through a lot, little of it very pleasant.
"Is that the truth?" Steve asked. "_Would_ he like to see me? Orwouldn't he just prefer to think I never was born at all?"
"No."
"I know the Captain--Dad--pretty well. Even though I haven't seen him innine years. He'd never forgive me for jumping ship. I don't want to payany visits to the _Valhalla_, Alan."
"Who said anything about visiting?"
"Then what _were_ you talking about?"
"I was talking about going back into the Crew," Alan said quietly.
The words seemed to strike Steve like physical blows. He shuddered alittle and gulped down the drink he held clutched in tobacco-stainedfingers. He looked up at Alan, finally.
"I can't. It's impossible. Flatly impossible."
"But----"
Alan felt Hawkes' foot kick him sharply under the table. He caught thehint, and changed the subject. There was time to return to it later.
"Okay, let's skip it for now. Why don't you tell me about your life onEarth these last nine years?"
Steve smiled sardonically. "There's not much to tell, and what there isis a pretty dull story. I came across the bridge from the Enclave lasttime the _Valhalla_ was in town, and came over into York City all setto conquer the world, become rich and famous, and live happily everafter. Five minutes after I set foot on the Earther side of the river Iwas beaten up and robbed by a gang of roving kids. It was a real finestart."
He signalled the waiter for another drink. "I guess I must have driftedaround the city for two weeks or more before the police found me andpicked me up for vagrancy. By that time the _Valhalla_ had long sincehoisted for Alpha C--and didn't I wish I was on it! Every night I usedto dream I had gone back on the ship. But when I woke up I always foundout I hadn't.
"The police gave me an education in the ways of Earther life, completewith rubber hoses and stingrays, and when they were through with me Iknew all about the system of work cards and free status. I didn't have acredit to my name. So I drifted some more. Then I got sick of driftingand tried to find a job, but of course I couldn't buy my way in to anyof the hereditary guilds. Earth has enough people of her own; she's notinterested in finding jobs for kid spacemen who jump ship.
"So I starved a little. Then I got tired of starving. So about a yearafter I first jumped ship I borrowed a thousand credits from somebodyfoolish enough to lend them, and set myself up as a professional gambleron Free Status. It was the only trade I could find that didn't have anyentrance requirements."
"Did you do well?"
"Yeah. Very well. At the end of my first six months I was fifteenhundred credits in debt. Then my luck changed; I won three thousandcredits in a single month and got shifted up to Class B." Steve laughedbitterly. "That was beautiful, up there. Inside of two more months I'dnot only lost my three thousand, I was two thousand more in hock. Andthat's the way it's been going ever since. I borrow here, win a littleto pay him back, or lose a little and borrow from someone else, win alittle, lose a little--round and round and round. A swell life, Alan.And I still dream about the _Valhalla_ once or twice a week."
Steve's voice was leaden, dreary. Alan felt a surge of pity. Theswashbuckling, energetic Steve he had known might still be there, insidethis man somewhere, but surrounding him were the scars of nine bitteryears on Earth.
Nine years. It was a tremendous gulf.
Alan caught his breath a moment. "If you had the chance to go back intothe Crew, no strings attached, no recriminations--would you take it?"
For an instant the old brightness returned to Steve's eyes. "Of course Iwould! But----"
"But what?"
"I owe seven thousand credits," Steve said. "And it keeps getting worse.That pot I won today, just before you came over to me, that was thefirst take I'd had in three days. Nine years and I'm still a Class Cgambler. We can't all be as good as Hawkes here. I'm lousy--but whatother profession could I go into, on an overcrowded and hostile worldlike this one?"
Seven thousand credits, Alan thought. It was a week's earnings forHawkes--but Steve would probably be in debt the rest of his life.
"Who do you owe this money to?" Hawkes asked suddenly.
Steve looked at him. "The Bryson syndicate, mostly. And Lorne Hollis.The Bryson people keep a good eye on me, too. There's a Bryson manthree booths up who follows me around. If they ever saw me going nearthe spacefield they'd be pretty sure to cut me off and ask for theirmoney. You can't welsh on Bryson."
"Suppose it was arranged that your debts be cancelled," Hawkes saidspeculatively.
Steve shook his head. "No. I don't want charity. I know you're a Class Aand seven thousand credits comes easy to you, but I couldn't take it.Skip it. I'm stuck here on Earth for keeps, and I'm resigned to it. Imade my choice, and this is what I got."
"Listen to reason," Alan urged. "Hawkes will take care of the money youowe. And Dad will be so happy to see you come back to the shipagain----"
"Like Mars he'll be happy! See me come back, beaten up and ragged, awashed-out old man at twenty-six? No, sir. The Captain blotted me out ofhis mind a long time ago, and he and I don't have any further businesstogether."
"You're wrong, Steve. He sent me into the Earther city deliberately tofind you. He said to me, 'Find Steve and urge him to come back to theship.' He's forgiven you completely," Alan lied. "Everyone's anxious tohave you come back on board."
For a moment Steve sat silent, indecisive, frowning deeply. Then he madeup his mind. He shook his head. "No--both of you. Thanks, but I don'twant any. Keep your seven thousand, Hawkes. And you, Alan--go back tothe ship and forget all about me. I don't even deserve a second chance."
"You're wrong!" Alan started to protest, but a second time Hawkes kickedhim hard, and he shut up. He stared curiously at the gambler.
"I guess that about settles it," Hawkes observed. "If the man wants tostay, we can't force him."
Steve nodded. "I have to stay on Earth. And now I'd better get back tothe games parlor--I can't waste any time, you know. Not with a seventhousand credit backlog to make up."
"Naturally. But there's time for one more drink, isn't there? On me.Maybe you don't want my money, but let me buy you a drink."
Steve grinned. "Fair enough."
He started to wave to the bartender, but Hawkes shot out an arm quicklyand blocked off the gesture. "He's an old man and he's tired. I'll go tothe bar and order." And before Steve could protest, Hawkes had slippedsmoothly out of the booth and was on his way forward to the bar.
Alan sat facing his brother. He felt pity. Steve had been through a lot;the freedom he had longed for aboard ship had had a heavy price. And wasit freedom, to sit in a crowded games parlor on a dirty little planetand struggle to get out of debt?
There was nothing further he could say to Steve.
He had tried, and hehad failed, and Steve would remain on Earth. But it seemed wrong. Steve_did_ deserve a second chance. He had jumped ship and it had been amistake, but there was no reason why he could not return to his oldlife, wiser for the experience. Still, if he refused----
Hawkes came back bearing two drinks--another beer for himself and awhiskey for Steve. He set them out on the table and said, "Well, drinkup. Here's hoping you make Class A and stay there."
"Thanks," Steve said, and drained his drink in a single loud gulp. Hiseyes widened; he started to say something, but never got the words out.He slumped down in his seat and his chin thumped ringingly against thetable.
Alan looked at Hawkes in alarm. "What happened to him? Why'd he passout?"
Hawkes smiled knowingly. "An ancient Earth beverage known as the MickeyFinn. Two drops of a synthetic enzyme in his drink; tasteless, butextremely effective. He'll be asleep for ten hours or more."
"How'd you arrange it?"
"I told the bartender it was in a good cause, and he believed me. Youwait here, now. I want to talk to that Bryson man about your brother'sdebts, and then we'll spirit him out to the spaceport and dump himaboard the _Valhalla_ before he wakes up."
Alan grinned. He was going to have to do some explaining to Steve later,but by that time it would be too late; the starship would be well on itsway to Procyon. It was a dirty trick to play, he thought, but it wasjustifiable. In Hawkes' words, it was in a good cause.
Alan put his arms around his brother's shoulders and gently lifted himout of the chair; Steve was surprisingly light, for all his lack ofcondition. Evidently muscle weighed more than fat, and Steve had gone tofat. Supporting his brother's bulk without much trouble, Alan made hisway toward the entrance to the bar. As he went past the bartender, theold man smiled at him. Alan wondered what Hawkes had said to him.
Right now Hawkes was three booths up, leaning over and taking part in anurgent whispered conference with a thin dark-faced man in a sharplytailored suit. They reached some sort of agreement; there was ahandshake. Then Hawkes left the booth and slung one of Steve's danglingarms around his own shoulder, easing the weight.
"There's an Undertube that takes us as far as Carhill Boulevard and thebridge," Hawkes said. "We can get a ground vehicle there that'll go onthrough the Enclave and out to the spacefield."
The trip took nearly an hour. Steve sat propped up between Alan andHawkes, and every now and then his head would loll to one side oranother, and he would seem to be stirring; but he never woke. The sightof two men dragging a third along between them attracted not theslightest attention as they left the Undertube and climbed aboard thespacefield bus. Apparently in York City no one cared much about whatwent on; it made no difference to the busy Earthers whether Steve wereunconscious or dead.
The ground bus took them over the majestic arch of the bridge, rapidlythrough the sleepy Enclave--Alan saw nobody he recognized in thestreets--and through the restricted area that led to the spacefield.
The spaceport was a jungle of ships, each standing on its tail waitingto blast off. Most of them were small two-man cargo vessels, used intravel between Earth and the colonies on the Moon, Mars, and Pluto, buthere and there a giant starship loomed high above the others. Alan stoodon tiptoes to search for the golden hull of the _Valhalla_, but he wasunable to see it. Since the starship would be blasting off at the end ofthe week, he knew the crew was probably already at work on it, shapingit up for the trip. He belonged on it too.
He saw a dark green starship standing nearby; the _Encounter_, KevinQuantrell's ship. Men were moving about busily near the big ship, andAlan remembered that it had become obsolete during its last long voyage,and was being rebuilt.
A robot came sliding up to the three of them as they stood there at theedge of the landing field.
"Can I help you, please?"
"I'm from the starship _Valhalla_," Alan said. "I'm returning to theship. Would you take me to the ship, please?"
"Of course."
Alan turned to Hawkes. The moment had come, much too suddenly. Alan feltRat twitching at his cuff, as if reminding him of something.
Grinning awkwardly, Alan said, "I guess this is the end of the line,Max. You'd better not go out on the spacefield with us. I--I sort ofwant to thank you for all the help you've given me. I never would havefound Steve without you. And about the bet we made--well, it looks likeI'm going back on my ship after all, so I've won a thousand credits fromyou. But I can't ask for it, of course. Not after what you did forSteve."
He extended his hand. Hawkes took it, but he was smiling strangely.
"If I owed you the money, I'd pay it to you," the gambler said. "That'sthe way I work. The seven thousand I paid for Steve is extra and aboveeverything else. But you haven't won that bet yet. You haven't won ituntil the _Valhalla's_ in space with you aboard it."
The robot made signs of impatience. Hawkes said, "You'd better convoyyour brother across the field and dump him on his ship. Save thegoodbyes for later. I'll wait right here for you. Right here."
Alan shook his head. "Sorry, Max, but you're wasting your time bywaiting. The _Valhalla_ has to be readied for blastoff, and once I checkin aboard ship I can't come back to visit. So this is goodbye, righthere."
"We'll see about that," Hawkes said. "Ten to one odds."
"Ten to one," Alan said. "And you've lost your bet." But his voice didnot sound very convincing, and as he started off across the field withSteve dragging along beside him he frowned, and did some very intensethinking indeed in the few minutes' time it took him to arrive at theshining _Valhalla_. He was beginning to suspect that Hawkes might begoing to win the bet after all.
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