Crystal Heat

2

After he hid the flikit, Worm spent the rest of the night trudging across prickly wasteland. He detested walking, he hated all this ugly nothing full of dust and stinks and malevolent thorns doing their best to rip his flesh; but he wanted to be sure the flikit would be where he put it when he needed it again, so.it-had to be in a place no sane man would bother looking at.

He reached the Landing Field in the gray dawn light, brushed himself off, and caught a jit heading for Haundi Zurgile’s Star Street.

He found what he was looking for at the end of a narrow side alley, a hole-in-the-wall called The Rainy Season. The name didn’t matter, it was the smell he recognized. Xman said it was cheap drink, cheaper brainrot, mixed with the stink of maybes never gonna happen and the lowgrade fever of hate/fear. Sure enough, whenever he smelled it, Worm knew he was in a place he understood and with people he knew even if he’d never seen them before.

He dumped his gearsac on the floor between the stool and the bar, then slid ’onto the stool so the sac lay between his feet.

The barscort was an old, sad Lommertoerkan, his facial folds so deep and packed so tightly together, he looked like someone had shoved his skin through a pleater. “Ya?”

“Any cohanq?”

“Five minims a shot.” The Lommertoerkan’s voice was high and sweet; if Worm closed his eyes, it could have been a woman talking. “See the coin before I pour.”

Worm set a brass gelder on the wood. “Local exchange will do me, gonna be here a while.”

He sipped at the cohanq, expecting the hard bite of barrel squeeze and was surprised to find it sliding down without ripping the lining off his throat. “Good stuff,” he said and could’ve kicked himself when he heard the surprise in the words.

The pleats on the Lommertoerkan’s face spread slightly around what could have been a smile, then he said in his soft, sweet voice, “Trade’s brisk. Should you pick up something good, I can find it a home.”

“Luck up and bit me in the ass or I’d do a deal.” He drained the last drops of the cohanq and inspected the pile of local gelt, turning each plaque over, scowling at the holoed face and the enigmatic inscriptions. They were all alike. Fifteen of them. Twenty to a brass unless the Toerk was cheating him. He pushed five of them back. “Again.”

When the barscort slid his glass back to him, Worm took another swallow and felt a warm buzz forming in his head. He enjoyed it for a moment, then blinked at the Toerk. “Be here a while.”

“So you said.”

Worm moved the plaques with his finger. “All outgo ’n no in don’t play.”

“Labor exchange over by the Tinkerman’s lot. Ask anyone, they’ll point you right.”

“Could do, uh-huh. Could drop by here again, maybe you’d know someone could use a good lock man.”

“Drop a name. References as it were.”

“Texugarra. Gran Jalla Pit.”

“Ah. Sweet lady that she is.”

Worm snorted. “Texugarra would drop his beard should he hear that.”

“And what a beard it is, heh?”

“Every hair white as Menaviddan monofil and twice as tough.”

“Let us say you come along here round midafternoon tomorrow. You’ve found a place to stay?”

“Just got off the jit.”

The Lommertoerkan found a stylo and a bit of paper, scrawled a few words on it. “Empling has a room or two, I put down where to find him. If you don’t take to that place, look round there. Plenty of others.” He dropped the paper in front of Worm, swept the rest of the plaques into a side pocket of his tunic, and went to serve another patron.

Worm finished the drink, sipping slowly, savoring. the sweet fire of the cohanq. In a little while he’d have to go to work again, but for the moment he was just Worm and nothing more, no worries to twist his gut and give him nightmares where he relived things he hated having seen the first time.

The night was hot and sticky, a cloud layer blocking moon and starlight and pressing on the air until it was so thick it was more like breathing water. Worm ignored the, sweat rolling down his back and inside his barrier gloves and huddled in the deepest shadow he could find while Keyket went through the ID dance with the guard inside. The man had taken the bribe all right, but he was making sure he opened to the right thieves. Worm didn’t blame him, knowing how pissed a type like Grinder got when someone swooped in and snatched his prize; he just wished the git would hurry and make up his mind.

And he wished it would rain and wash the crud from the air. He was working up a real hate for this stinking world. The sooner he got off it, the better he’d like it, but it was going to be tougher than he thought glomming that femme. She was here all right; he’d seen her ambulating around with Grinder’s crippled kid. Hadn’t figured she’d have that kind of connections. Meant he had to be jodaddin sure he had it right, ’cause he wouldn’t get a second chance.

A siss from Keyket brought him out of shadow. The door opened, and they hurried inside.

“Bug has the sec sys tamed.” The guard was whispering, the sweat on Ins face from more than the heat. “Says you got a clear hour before the bypass starts to strain.”

Keyket nodded. “Gotcha. Where?”

“I better show you. This setup’s so messed only the keph can keep straight what’s where. Bug’s got dollies already there.”

The first lock took the longest time, almost twenty minutes of their hour. It was a tricky bit of ’tronics with layered freeze triggers and a mutating key, but he’d done tougher and he knew better than to lose hold on his patience.

He’d just got the lock to signal open when a brief waggle on the readout warned him there was another trick in the shipper’s bag. He swore under his breath and-ran the palmscanner around the crack where the lid fitted onto the base. Just a pressure spot. Simple but wicked if you missed it. He pressed his thumb onto the spot, the lock hummed, and the lid to the container cracked open.

He left the loading to Keyket and the guard, and moved on to the next container. The pattern was the same, so he went through that one fast as kobber beer through a gut By the time he finished the third, they’d lifted the packets they wanted from the first and transferred them to Grinder’s box. He shifted over there, closed the lid, reset the count and the pressure spot, engaged the lock, then stood waiting while Keyket finished pulling what he wanted from the second container.

Twenty minutes more and they were out of there, the warehouse sealed up again, no evidence anything had happened-except for some stuff gone missing off invoice and who could say where that went down. It hadn’t surprised Worm that Grinder knew exactly what was in each of those boices or that he wasn’t simply cleaning them out. He’d worked for smart and he’d worked for dumb and from what he’d seen here, Grinder was on the high side of smart. Reminded him a lot of Mort. Which made him shiver when he thought of what would happen if he missed the snatch and blew his cover.

A few steps before they hit the main street, Keyket gave his shoulder a friendly punch. “Never seen slicker, Worm. Grinder likes gits who know how to do the job. You better go shuck y’ tools. I’ll meet you at The Tank for the payout.”