Ah…
Primary, too, was due to cycle. He’d forgotten in the hustle of trying to line up a job that a new batch of tourists would be arriving today from a time. Malcolm rubbed the tip of his nose and smile A double-gate day …Maybe there was hope, after all. Even without a job, it ought to be fun.
Down at Gate Six, last-minute purchases we’re in full swing. Strolling vendors worked the crowd efficiently, burdened down with everything from ropes of “safe sausages to extra leather satchels for souvenirs, the latest “must-have” survival junk, and local coinage for those stupid enough to leave money exchanges to the last minute.
Malcolm wondered if he should consider a career as a vendor? They always seemed to do well and it would be steady work. Connie, maybe, would give him a job. He shook his head absently as he watched everything from last-minute mugs of coffee to tawdry bits of jewelry exchange hands. Nah, he’d get bored too quickly trying to hold down a mundane job, even here. Setting up his own shop was out of the question. Besides the question of higher rent for business space and all that hideous government paperwork to cope with, where would he get the capital to buy inventory? Investors weren’t interested in ex-guides, they wanted shrewd business acumen and plenty of sales management experience.
Of course, he could always go back to time scouting.
Malcolm glanced involuntarily toward the nearest barricades. The area had been fenced off because the gate hadn’t yet been explored or was inherently unstable. Malcolm had risked down-time explorations into unknown gates as a freelance time scout only twice. A stray shiver crawled up his spine. Kit Carson, the first and best-of all the time scouts, was famous all over the world. And damned lucky to be alive. Malcolm wasn’t exactly a coward, but time scouting was not Malcolm’s idea of a sane career. He was more than happy to settle for rubbing shoulders with giants and sharing war-stories with the real heroes of TT-86 over beer and pretzels.