"Listen to him. He apologizes. The scum!" With that word, he struck Jordan hard across the face with the back of his hand.
Jordan took the blow, falling to the street and cringing. Hot anger flooded his brain at the insult, and his muscles quivered. However, he restrained himself, for he had long ago decided that his mission here could only be accomplished passively. He peered up through eyes that were dull now, and saw the Martian's hand slide to the pistol in his belt. Jordan tensed, ready to launch himself up.
But the Martian's companion stopped him when his hand was on the pistol. "Don't waste a charge on him. Besides he's useful to us around here—runs errands, cleans out the ships, etc. I think he's a little touched." He tapped his head significantly, looking pityingly down at Jordan.
Jordan peered up and allowed his lips to part in an idiotic grin, revealing teeth and gums that were purplish as though from chewing the mind-destroying Eishn stems.
"You're right," the Martian said cruelly, "he's an Eishn hound. People who chew that stuff ought to live. Killing them'd be too merciful." He kicked Jordan in the ribs, and Jordan took that blow, too, clenching his teeth tight together. It would not do to make a stand yet.
He watched the two men move away, and then rose to his feet. It had been the smartest and safest thing he had done, never to have a pistol on him. No one was foolish enough to come to this pirate base unarmed, therefore they all looked upon him as "touched" and harmless. And he couldn't afford to get into any brawls—yet.
Jordan reached the great hollow space at the end of the street. This served as a spaceport, with ships of all sizes and designs resting there in scattered profusion. Pirates came here whenever they pleased, set down for a day or a week, and then left for places unknown and unasked. The entire hollow was pretty well concealed between ragged black cliffs that sheered up sharply on both sides.
Now Jordan moved out among the ships, searching for the one he had heard had just arrived that morning. Thus he had searched in the month he had been here, taking a careful look at each new arrival. He was waiting for one ship only, knowing it would be only a matter of time until it set down here. He would wait six months, a year, if necessary, until the Lucifer came. And when it did.... Jordan's lips pressed into a tight little line, as his eyes became space-cold and vengeful.
Ron Jordan was here to clear his brother, Carl, who had been sentenced to the Venus prison-swamp for life on a charge of smuggling Silicytes.[1] That was only a few months ago, and it was a false charge. Carl Jordan, stranded on Mars, had hired out to the Lucifer, a freighter purportedly scheduled for Earth. Instead, it had headed out toward Jupiter. It was the age-old shanghai trick. Four others besides Carl Jordan had been similarly duped. The owner and captain, a Martian named Tarnuff, explained that they'd be well paid upon reaching Callisto; and the men agreed, including Jordan. Then, reaching the asteroids, the ship set down on one of the large rocks and Tarnuff explained that they were to take on a cargo of Silicytes. The men, a villainous bunch anyway, still agreed—all except Jordan, who rebelled.