Chapter VI

Mars was wholesome in death before the coming of the spacemen. Now it was the refuse heap of the Solar System.

There was Heliopolis, of course, the great, shining, chrome-plated space port where vessels from all parts of the System touched for refueling and recreation of the passengers. Recreation that was not legal on any of the other planets.

The permanent population of Heliopolis was three fourths confidence men. The other fourth was made up of fugitives from penal colonies and thieves and murderers whose crimes had not caught up with them.

But these were the elite of the population of Mars. The lower types were found in the five suburbs surrounding Heliopolis.

The worst of the five was Taurus, where daily morning chores was burial of those who had been unfortunate in the night's tavern brawls.

As the _Corsair_ approached the red planet Nathan wondered where the incomprehensible Firebird fit into this wild and evil city. But she claimed it for home. Regarding the miracle of Luline she had refused to say a word and his repeated inquiries only forced her to greater reticence and widened the gap between them until he was forced to give up.

It was night on that side of Mars when they dropped the _Corsair_ onto the crowded field at the edge of Taurus. Amid the other vessels the ship stood like a jewel in a handful of gravel.

There was always a pause in the activities of the field when the ship of the Firebird came in. Attendants straightened up to stare, and wizened, space-burned adventurers paused when Firebird strode out of the port. She went down the ramp as if she were making a grand entrance into a ballroom. A thousand eyes were upon her, from corners of the field, from shops and all night eateries, and from the hulls of silent ships.

She was a living legend walking in their midst.

She gave instructions for the needed repairs to the _Corsair_, then the two of them started towards the town only a quarter of a mile away.

"What happens next?" said Nathan.

"Almost anything, but whatever it is it will require the use of your flame lance. Keep it handy. There will be a lot of waiting and listening. If you wait long enough you can hear all the secrets of the innermost chambers of the System revealed right in the taverns of Taurus.

"Our plan will be to let it be known that we have the four Jewels and are here for the other three. There'll be happenings enough after that. I'll leave it to you to spread that information."

Nathan did not question her further. They had arrived at the garish entrance to the "Orbit", a two story tavern a little larger than its neighbors. Nathan had heard his father mention the place as the unofficial headquarters of half the brigands on the spaceways.

The noise of gambling and of drinking and tavern music poured out upon them as they neared the place beneath the red brilliance of the sign overhead.

As Firebird stepped through the door, she threw back the crimson cape and tipped her chin a trifle higher. The tinkle of gambling chips and glasses halted and the babble of noise hushed. Firebird strode towards the bar, unmindful of the stares.

Nathan came more slowly. He heard whispering, first at Firebird, then at himself. His hands stayed close to his flame lances.

At the bar, the squat-faced bartender, Louey, was pale and flushed by turns. His mouth gaped at Firebird as she said, "Tokeela, please."

Louey chattered, "You're supposed to be dead. Somebody seen you. You were dead for sure."

"And now I'm alive for sure. I don't know what you are talking about, but hurry with that Tokeela."

Louey shook his head as if to clear the vision he had seen. He brought the drink and some of the same for Nathan who was surprised that the place even served the mild, nonintoxicating drink.

Nathan wondered about Louey's remark. How had the rumor of Firebird's death been started? What was its significance?

As they picked up their glasses the babble slowly resumed, but Nathan knew they were still the center of attention.

Heavy smoke clouds rolled against the lights like miniature thunderheads. Through it Nathan watched the pale faces of the women who seldom saw daylight, and the bronze leathered faces of the spacemen. He could see them wondering who he was and if he were with Firebird, for he had not spoken to her since they had come in.

Firebird made it clear. She turned abruptly and faced the room. "Folks, I want you to meet Nathan Ormondy. You all knew his father. Thymar was killed on Venus and Nathan has come to take his place on the spaceways. Come up and have a drink to the new spaceman, who is as good a man as his father ever was."

The music died. The room seemed to freeze.

* * * * *

Nathan stared at Firebird. She was smiling as if at some secret joke. The little fool, Nathan thought. She knew this would happen. Even his limited knowledge of their codes told him that much.

A big bronze spaceman at the nearest table looked up from his cards. "We don't let women buy our drinks," he said. He turned back to the cards.

Nathan swore under his breath. What was Firebird trying to do? But it was his move now.

The big spaceman picked up a card from his hand and moved to throw it on the table. The card vanished in midair and flakes of ash fell to the table. He glanced up at Nathan's flame lance carelessly resting against his hip.

"Perhaps you would accept an invitation from me," said Nathan slowly.

The spaceman eyed him narrowly. "We don't let women buy our drinks," he said.

His eyes didn't shift, and Nathan's seemed to flicker only for an instant. But it was long enough for the cards in the spaceman's hand to puff into flame. He dropped them frantically.

His face lighted with rage and he half rose from his chair, but he said nothing. Nathan's lance hung in the same position.

"I think it would be a good idea for you and me to be friends," said Nathan.

"Yeah," said the spaceman, "it could be a good idea at that."

He rose and stepped slowly to the bar. "Straight Scotch for mine," he told Louey. He turned to the rest of the crowd. "Come on up, folks. My friend here is buying us drinks."

The hubbub resumed slowly as the crowd followed his leadership to the bar. The spaceman edged close to Nathan.

"Name's Tompkins," he said. "Kind of taking after your old man, I see. Hanging around with the Firebird, I mean. I knew Thymar pretty well when he was trailing her skirts. Kind of always figured that he did the trigger work and she got the reputation."

His loud drawl drew the other spacemen in a ring that was growing tighter about Nathan. It was an old move.

"Please don't crowd," said Nathan. "There isn't room at the bar for everybody, but there is plenty of drink."

The men glanced at Tompkins.

"Sure. Don't crowd," said Tompkins. "The boy's a little trigger nervous tonight. Maybe going to do your first job for Firebird, huh? Does she allow you gambling and drinking money?"

Nathan lifted his glass slowly and studied Tompkins and the men about him. He could feel the unplumbed depths of emotion that was being turned upon him.

Then he got it. It was their pent up resentment and hatred of Firebird. They would not have dared bait her like this. It would have led to shooting, and none of them wanted to be known as her killer.

Their own peculiar codes were responsible for this. Dueling with Firebird would be open admission that she was their equal. She was perfectly safe in the tavern full of thieves and killers who would have welcomed news of her death at the hand of someone else.

Nathan felt like laughing at himself for considering himself something of a noble protector as he had entered the "Orbit" behind Firebird. In reality, she was safe, but the spacemen didn't mean for him to be alive when he left.

"You've got me all wrong, gentlemen," said Nathan. "I think Firebird killed my father and I'm stringing along to keep tabs on her. And we have a little agreement that might interest you. Between us we have four of the Seven Jewels of Chamar--"

* * * * *

Instantly, the smirking, taunting grins became frozen deadliness. The circle pressed inward.

"I wouldn't come any closer," Nathan advised.

"Four of the Seven!" exclaimed Tompkins. "I think you're a liar."

"We'll take care of that later," said Nathan. "We've come to get the other three. Then we'll settle who is to keep them, as well as the matter of my father's murder. I mention it because I thought some of you gentlemen might help us. In fact, you might have one or more of the Jewels right here in this room. We'll be glad to relieve you of them."

There was a dangerous trick with a flame lance that Nathan had learned from his father. The flame could be made to reflect from a wooden surface if the angle of incidence and the intensity of the beam were just right.

Nathan had watched the play building up in the circle about him. It was almost ready to go. Behind Tompkins, one of the spacemen had carefully drawn his flame lance. Nathan knew it by the slow movement of the man's shoulders and his attempts to keep his eyes carelessly forward.

Tompkins was keeping close against the man, one arm on the edge of the bar. In a moment the point of the lance would appear at Tompkins' waist and blast--as soon as Nathan's attention was turned away from Tompkins.

Carefully, Nathan weighed his chances. He had about a fifty-fifty chance of coming out alive. He wondered just why Firebird had devised such a trap. Right now she was sitting alone at a table on the opposite side of the room, apparently not paying any attention to what was going on.

He gauged his distance from the killer and moved a step closer to Tompkins while draining his glass. Then he swung suddenly away, turning his back on Tompkins. In the faces of the men surrounding him he could see the sudden change of expression, which they could not hide.

He called the bartender. "Fill up again, Louey. All around. I feel lucky tonight."

Simultaneously, his hand dropped carelessly to his side and twisted the pocket of his flame lance to point the electrode behind him. His little finger locked around the trigger and pressed.

A sharp scream arose from behind Tompkins and a flame lance clattered to the floor. Nathan whirled. Both his lances were in front of him when he faced Tompkins.

But Tompkins was staring down at the dead killer. And he was searching frantically for the source of the shot. Then his glance fell on the charred wood of the front of the bar where Nathan's reflection shot had turned.

At first his unbelief was amusing. Then anger came like a hurricane across his face.

The spacemen were hungry for a brawl. A hunching of Tompkins' shoulders would send them rushing. Nathan could kill perhaps a dozen before they got him. But there would be little satisfaction in that.

He said quietly, "I'll get you first, Tompkins. Better call off your dogs."

Tompkins hesitated. If he gave the signal, Nathan would kill him first. If he failed to give it, some drunk spaceman's shot might easily find his back.

Then a bellowing interruption solved Tompkins' problem for him. A newcomer burst into the tavern and grasped the scene.

He laughed with a gentle thunder. "Ho--I come to look for the son of Thymar and find him holding up the brawlingest joint on all Mars--including my old friend Trigger Tompkins!"

Nathan glanced out of the corner of his eye as Tabor strode forward.