59
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . ..
Sawbill indicated the ladder. “Then come aboard, feller me lad, come aboard.”
Wu relaxed slightly and started for the ladder. “Then you have that kind of anger?” he asked.
“Why, surely,” replied Sawbill, dipping the brush in a can of clear polymer debonder. “That’s the anger of revenge and I always keep plenty of that in stock.”
He took another look at the way the photon magnet on the man’s finger disorganized the light of the fading sun. “It will cost you three times seven thousand credits, feller me lad.”
“That’s perfectly agreeable,” said Wu evenly, stepping onto the deck.
Sawbill indicated the way down. “May I inquire why you should wish such anger?”
“Well,” began Wu, hesitantly, “there’s a woman—” “Ah!” said Sawbill understandingly. “—and she’s been taken from me. I want her back.” “Of course,” murmured Sawbill as he followed the young man down.
Forward, the pirn-bird observed the ocean devouring the sun-ball and said, Ee-kwoo, ee-kwoo, ee-kwoo-hoo…
He was stacking the last strands of new dylon rigging when a voice from below said, “Hello.”
Sawbill looked over the railing. The too-young man stood below. Jordan’s face was pale, haggard, worn. His suit, blue this time, was badly rumpled, as was his manner.
“Hello on board,” he said rather shakily, evidently not seeing Sawbill.
“Evening,” said Sawbill.
“Look—I know I promised not to see you again, but I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Do you?” asked Sawbill, turning back to his waxing. He dipped a hand in the pot of wax and continued running the new line through his fingers. “But I don’t have to talk to you.”