I had visited several bars on Space Port 66 over the years but I had never been to Kwan's. I asked the cab driver to drop me around the corner from the docking arms for the commercial transports that ferried passengers to and from Drift World on a daily basis. I paid the driver and then stood in the street watching the cab speed away. I looked up at one of the gigantic docking arms, shielding my face with my hand against the glare of the sun. A transport was in the process of making the connection. As I looked on, the huge vessel lowered slightly, then eased itself up against the end of the docking arm. I knew the connection was successful when I heard the familiar hiss of the pressure seals and then the low whine of the transport's engines cycling down.

I knew that elevators within the docking arms ferried passengers and cargo down to the surface. It was a routine operation. The connection of ship to arm was usually handled by computer, and though some captains preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, it was rare. I could have gone directly to Kwan's, but I wanted to retrace Jed Teague's steps. When I take on a job, I like to see it to completion the proper way. Gather the facts. Follow solid leads. I knew that Teague had disembarked from one of the giant commercial transports. He would have ridden down inside one of the docking arms and exited at street level. While I couldn't be sure which arm he would have used, I knew I was in the general vicinity of where he'd started out from.

I headed in the direction of the bar from there. As Donnel had told me, the journey on foot took me about ten minutes. The establishment was in a rundown unit with Kwan's in bright pink neon signage above the doors. There had once been windows but they'd been covered by black metal shutters. If I was to go by appearance alone, I could have been forgiven for thinking the place had gone out of business long ago. It did not look like a thriving, active bar.

The double doors at the front parted as a bedraggled patron stumbled outside, squinting in the sunshine, looking worse for wear. Now I could hear the music coming from within—some kind of jazz I could not identify. The doors swung closed again, and the music was silenced. I watched the man stagger into the street, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. When he'd moved on I headed inside.

It was dark in the bar, with scant use of artificial lighting. I removed my shades, giving my eyes a moment to adjust. A long bar ran down one side of the room, with stools along half of its length. There was a lit stage area with tables and chairs in front of it and on the other side of the room enclosed booths. I noticed people sat at some of the booths. A handful of the tables facing the stage were already taken by people nursing drinks, and several stools at the bar were already occupied. A three-piece band was in full swing on the stage, lost to the music they were playing. I felt each thrum of the bass jar in my bones.

The bartender, a Doubian, was standing on some kind of raised platform behind the bar itself, as I'd never seen a member of his species taller than five feet. I approached the bar and saw that, like all Doubians, he was covered in brown hair from head to toe, and his round, rodent-like black eyes watched me.

"Afternoon," he said, wiping out a glass with a rag and setting it to one side. "What can I do you for?"

"That depends. What do you recommend?" I asked, pulling up a stool.

"The whiskey's popular 'round here."

"Let's go with that, then."

The Doubian took a fresh glass and set it down on the counter top. He then fetched a bottle of whiskey from behind and unscrewed the cap. "Ice?"

"As it comes."

The bartender filled the glass halfway and then pushed it toward me with one paw. "Three credits."

I paid him, then handed him another ten credits.

The Doubian looked at me dubiously. "What's that for?"

"Information."

He glanced about. "Lower your voice."

"And there I was thinking I was being inconspicuous . . ."

The bartender accepted the credits. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice tense. "You're not the law, are you?"

"Quite the opposite," I said, showing him my identification.

Once he realized I was a mercenary, the Doubian relaxed.

I continued: "I'm looking for a man who goes by the name Jed Teague. Ring any bells?"

"No."

"He came through here three days ago. I believe he would have come to this bar to hide out."

"People do."

"He might have been looking for help."

The Doubian male peered down the bar at the patrons drinking at the other end. They didn't seem to be taking any notice of our conversation—yet.

"I can tell you who might have been here that day to offer their services, but it's gonna cost you more than ten credits."

"Twenty."

"Forty."

"Let's meet in the middle at thirty, you've had ten credits already. Don't tell me you get tips like that pouring drinks."

"Fine. Thirty," the furry alien said irritably. "If you must know, I do well with tips."

"The info."

The Doubian pointed to a booth in the far corner of the bar. It was cast in deep shadow but I could just make out the form of somebody sat on one side of it. "That's Hugh Legard. Skipper for a freighter transporting goods here from Anaris. He might have spoken to him that day."

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"Might have."

The bartender shrugged. "If he was in here looking to spend his credits, Legard would've sniffed him out eventually."

"Who else?"

The Doubian grimaced. "It'd help if I knew what he looked like."

"I have a token but I didn't think you wanted anyone else to pick up on what we're talking about?"

"Hand it over and I'll look under the bar."

I did so. The bartender hopped down from the platform behind the bar and disappeared. A moment later, he returned and handed the quarry token back to me. "I recognize him. I remember now, he spoke to Captain Legard for at least half an hour then crossed the bar to speak to Cort."

"Cort?"

The bartender nodded his head in the direction of a woman with red hair sat at one of the tables facing the stage. She was watching the band and nursing a drink. She had one leg crossed over the other, her foot tapping rhythmically to the music. "Cort Valez."

"And she specializes in . . .?"

"Arranging protection."

"Protection."

The Doubian leaned forward so that he didn't have to raise his voice. "Bodies. Heavies. Whatever you want to call them."

"Muscle."

"Whatever."

"Nobody here deals in fabricating new identification? Anything like that?"

The bartender eyed me with suspicion. "Wait a minute. Are you sure you're not the law?"

"I already proved to you that I'm not," I said, passing him the credits we'd agreed on.

"I think you'd better have that drink and make it your only one. I'm worried you're going to scare off my regulars with your questions."

"Point taken," I said and lifted the glass of whiskey to my lips. I took a sip. The liquor was rough around the edges, but drinkable. "Pleasure talking to you."

The bartender moved away.

I turned my attention to the stage, sipping my whiskey, blending into the scene as much as possible. In a few moments, I'd approach Cort Valez and try to keep my inquiries low-key. Yet, my mind mulled over the bartender's words. Teague had been there. What help had he already procured? How far along with his plans was he? These thoughts lingered in the air as the music swirled around me, a melody ripe with questions and as yet, unsatisfying answers.

I turned on my stool to look at the woman the Doubian had called Cort. The idea that Jed Teague might have hired muscle through her was intriguing. I wanted to find out for sure if that had been the case. I figured I'd get further with Valez than with Captain Legard. I was willing to approach both if need be.

I got off the stool and carried my drink over to the woman's table. "Mind if I join you?"

Valez didn't take her eyes off the band. "Plenty of spare tables for you to choose from."

"I want to sit with you."

Now she looked at me. "Take a seat somewhere else."

I had to be careful. If Teague had gone to Valez to employ her services, she wouldn't be obliged to tell me that was the case. So any interaction with Valez became more about drawing Teague out, than attaining information on his whereabouts. I produced my ID. "I'm not a threat to you."

Valez's bright green eyes narrowed. "But I could be to you, given the bounty on you."

My hand fell to my holster. "You're welcome to try."

"You think you're the only one in here carrying a blaster?"

"No, but I'll wager I'm the fastest at drawing it."

A smile spread across Valez's face. "I like you. You're ballsy."

"I'll take that."

"Sit down then. Let's get this over with."

I pulled out a chair the other side of the table and sat down. "So you know who I am."

"Everyone knows about you. I mean, if they didn't before, they sure do now. That's quite a price Neko Hohst has put on your head."

I tensed up as I made another visual sweep of the bar, looking for anyone with an unusual interest in me. I didn't spot anyone who was an outright threat to me . . . yet. But this was the second time someone on Drift World had known about me and the reward Hohst had offered for my elimination. It put me on edge. Hohst had single-handedly made my time on Drift World more perilous. I was aware that an attempt on my life was bound to happen sooner rather than later. But not knowing from which angle to expect it from had a crazy feel to it, like I was not in control of things. Which, I guessed, I wasn't. Nobody is.

"Relax. There are no assassins in here."

"I guess if there were, you wouldn't be in here yourself."

Valez smiled. The band finished their set and announced they were taking a short break. The live music was replaced by something prerecorded.

"I'm looking for a man. You might have seen him. Jed Teague?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"No?"

"No."

"I thought, a bar like this. Teague might have come here looking to spend a few credits. Hire some muscle. Get a new ID. Maybe charter a ship off this rock. That kinda thing."

"Let me see what he looks like," Valez demanded.

I produced the quarry token and activated it.

Valez looked at the green holodisplay of Jed Teague's head. "I don't know him."

"Fair enough," I said, deactivating the token. "It was worth asking. His trail's gone cold. I was hoping to pick it back up by now."

"What can I say?" Valez opened her hands. "You don't win 'em all."

"No, you don't," I said. I drained the last of the whiskey in one go and set the glass back down. "Anyway, I won't intrude any further. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow, see if anything has changed."

"By all means. But I don't see how it would," Valez said.

I stood. "Perhaps you're right. I appreciate the time."

"Before you go, I should tell you. Escaping Neko Hohst . . . it's not impossible, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"New identification. A fresh start. All of that. I know people who can make all of that happen."

"Thanks but I'll deal with it in my own way," I told her.

"You'll always be looking over your shoulder."

"True." My mouth lifted at the side into a grin. "Unless . . ."

"Unless what? You kill Neko Hohst? Now I know you're crazy," Valez said, banging her hand down on the table and laughing at the top of her lungs. "You're certifiable!"

"Appreciate the time," I said and walked off. My patience had begun to wear thin. I considered heading over to Legard's booth and trying my luck with him. But I knew I'd meet the same resistance. These people weren't about to deal behind their customers' backs. It'd be bad for business, and even worse for their standing.

It was clear to me I wasn't getting any further in my efforts at finding Teague by remaining in Kwan's.

When I emerged from the bar, the hard sunlight rendered my eyes useless. I was temporarily blind until I put my shades back on and gave myself a moment to become accustomed to the incessant glare again. I walked in the opposite direction to the way I'd come, thinking about the options open to me in terms of locating Jed Teague. There was no doubt in my mind he'd been to Kwan's and possibly paid Valez for protection. He may have also paid Hugh Legard for transport off the planet's surface.

If that happened, I knew I would be hard-pressed to find him again. Teague would simply disappear with a new ID. He'd blend into the crowd and I could forget any hope I had of locating him. Valez had suggested the same escape to me. And though I turned her down, there had been a small part of me that felt the allure of such an offer. Starting anew someplace else, and ridding myself of the price on my head, were attractive prospects given the circumstances. But I could never do it—running from my problems wasn't my style. No matter how big the bounty Hohst stuck on my head, I would face what came with the same obstinate attitude I'd approached any of the other roadblocks in my life.

It wasn't the first time I had wound up on bad terms with a client, but it was the first time I'd ever had a bounty put on me that I knew about. I had my enemies, but Neko Hohst was on a whole other level. He had power and wealth. He had a broad reach and carried a strong influence across the criminal underworld of The Periphery.

He had set out to ruin me. Destroy me. How long could I ignore it? How long could I evade the issue before tackling it head-on? Eventually I would have to. Neko Hohst would not be an easy man to deal with when the time came, and the prospect of doing so filled me with trepidation.

I stood under the awning of a closed-down store and took a moment in the shade it offered to eat some of the jerky I'd purchased earlier. I leaned against the corner of the building and looked back the way I'd came in time to see Cort Valez coming my way, focused on a device in her hand.

I shrank back out of sight behind the corner of the building and put the rest of the jerky away. I drew my blaster and waited.