"Tasted good."

"So, is there a problem?"

"I don't know," the vid arcade owner replied. "Is there?"

"Think we try cheat you?" Jak asked with a hint of annoyance, beginning to reach out for the thin piece of gold on the desk. "Mebbe go elsewhere."

Templeton moved incredibly fast for a fat man and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the gold. Dean knew Jak had purposely let him do sono one on Earth was faster than the long-haired albino when the teen put his mind to speed.

"h.e.l.l, boy. Nothing personal," he protested. "I think everybody under thirty tries to cheat my a.s.s. You wouldn't believe some of the kinds of counterfeit jack punks your age have tried to pa.s.s off on me. Thick or thin, coins or nuggets, paper currency or fake charge chits. I've seen more bootleg precious metals than you'll ever know. More fake jack floating around Freedom than the real thing."

"What's your deal?" Dean asked.

"A good one. Your gold tastes right to my teeth and tongue, so I'll give you what you need."

He took out two red lapel pinback b.u.t.tons and held them out to the waiting Jak and Dean. They took the offered pins and looked at them with puzzlement.

"Wear these at all times while in the arcade. If you lose your b.u.t.ton, you have to ante up for a new one. b.u.t.tons are coated with some chemical. I've got a sec screen that can read it. You won't be able to get in my arcade without wearing the pins, or an alarm goes off and you're escorted to the front to leave or to the back to pay."

"What about the tokens?" Dean asked.

"I'm getting to them." The man reached down to a silver device attached to his wide leather belt and pressed a thumb trigger rapidly, releasing a series of small, flat, round metal coins.

"Ten tokens each," he said with a flourish.

"Bulls.h.i.t." Jak said, stressing each of the syllables.

The token salesman shook his head. "There you go again. You albinos make it h.e.l.l to do business with any sort of wit."

"Want twenty," Jak said, gesturing to himself and Dean. "Each."

"Don't try and rogue us, mister," Dean added, wanting to know where Jak was going with his request to double the deal, since he knew they'd already decided that an offer of ten tokens and membership was fair.

The larger man shook his head with a pained expression. "d.a.m.n. A haggler. Christ save us all from hagglers. Okay. Fifteen. Each."

Dean glanced over at his friend, ready to back the play if things went south.

"Eighteen," Jak countered.

Templeton looked as though he were about to succ.u.mb to a heart attack. "G.o.dd.a.m.n, boy, this ain't no roadside carny! Things are more cut-and-dried here! You want deals, go to a ville flea market! Find a street peddler! Dig in the graveyards! But don't ha.s.sle me with trying to skim a better deal than retail price!"

Jak didn't reply. He just waited.

Dean decided to play along. "When he gets like this, mister, he'd rather cheat himself out of having a good time than spend extra jack on entertainment he thinks is a rip-off."

"No refunds," Templeton said icily, wrapping his hand around the gold.

"What you think." Jak allowed himself to smile a feral smile, his lips peeling back and revealing his sharp canine teeth.

The owner frowned. "Seventeen. My final offer, otherwise we can get as nasty as you want to be, son."

Jak turned off the evil disconcerting grin. "Deal."

"Excellent!" Templeton crowed, and thumbed the coin changer at his side rapidly, spitting out the rest of the needed tokens to activate the vid games.

Jak and Dean left they way they came and entered the arena of noise and light.

"Didn't know you knew how to haggle, Jak," Dean said.

"Sure. What first?"

Dean looked around carefully. "We wait."

Jak shot him a look of sheer exasperation.

"Hang with me, Jak. If we play some of these games n.o.body else is on right now, we're wasting tokens. I got a theory. See, they're punk games. s.h.i.t vids that regulars stay away from. I think the most popular games are the ones you have to wait a turn on."

Jak nodded. "Makes sense. Which one you want wait for?"

"That red-and-black game," Dean said firmly. "The one called Mortal Kombat." Brack and Dex were playing MK. They had their backs to the two newest members of the arcade as they busily worked the joysticks and b.u.t.tons to the game Dean had pointed out.

"One of a.s.sholes from earlier messing with?" Jak asked.

"Uh huh."

The albino grinned. "All right."

Dean and Jak stepped past Mortal Kombat and stood behind another game, but that one hadn't even earned a pa.s.sing glance from any of the young people in the busy arcade. The game was called s.p.a.ce Invaders, and even to Jak's untrained eye the unit's graphics and controls looked primitive.

"Rather wait for something good than rush into a bad game." Dean said.

"Uh-huh," Jak replied, tuning out the racket of the many games and voices as best he could, while thinking to himself that Doc's verbal jousting might not be so bad after all.

Chapter Eighteen.

Ryan hadn't been flat on his back more than five minutes when another knock came from the flimsy hotel door.

"Want me to get it, lover?" Krysty said sleepily.

"No, I'm on it."

Ryan swung open the door, expecting to see Dean and Jak.

"Now what?" he said, his voice annoyed. Before him stood a freshly showered and shaved Doc.

"Ah, Ryan, might you be interested in joining me for a nightcap to celebrate today's victory of man over machine?"

"No, thanks, Doc. I'm whipped. Just want to get some sleep."

Doc a.s.sumed an understanding look as he pushed away a stray white hair that had broken loose from the rest he'd combed back from his high forehead. "I can certainly share agreement with your exhaustion, friend Cawdor. Indeed, you have earned your rest."

"Great. Well, good night," Ryan said, turning his back and moving to step into the hotel room.

"Ah, you do know young Dean and Jak both have ventured out?" Doc asked in a conspiratorial tone.

"They dropped by," Ryan replied, keeping his back to the old man, mentally willing him to leave.

Doc wasn't picking up on the mental vibrations. "I was convinced you were aware of their absence, but wanted to let you know, all the same. Growing boys are growing boys. Well, Jak really isn't a boy anymore, but you gather my meaning."

"Right," Ryan replied tightly.

"Well, if needed, I will be in that smoky little pub located on the upper level of this mammoth monstrosity, next to the front entrance of the lobby to our humble abode. I think a stiff drink of good whiskey might settle my sleeplessness."

"Right. Good night, Doc."

Ryan closed the door. "Next time, I swear, I'm not telling anyone where we're staying."

"That's okay," Krysty told him. "Why don't you come back to bed and we'll see what comes up next?"

RYAN WOKE UP in the dark bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. His recently reinjured shoulder throbbed dully in time with the pounding in his head.

"You felt it, too, lover?" Krysty's voice came from next to him in the bed.

"Feltsomething," Ryan replied. "Got a triple-bad pain in my shoulder."

A rustling sound came, followed by Krysty's hand on his face. "You're burning up, Ryan."

"Not a fever," he said. "Just a headache."

"What time is it?"

Ryan reached out and felt around on the small end table next to the bed for his wrist chron. He thumbed the b.u.t.ton, and the glowing dial revealed the time to be 417 a.m. "After four," he said.

"Do you think anything is wrong?"

"Mebbe." Ryan stood. "You stay put while I check the other rooms. I'll start with Doc's. Dean and Jak were supposed to be going out for some fun at a vid arcade tonight. Won't hurt to make sure they're snug in their beds."

Ryan lit a small candle on the nightstand and hurriedly dressed in the flickering light. Krysty was sitting up, watching him.

"You're sure you don't want me to come?" she asked.

"No need. Not yet. Let me see if anything's going on first," Ryan replied as he strapped down his holster to his leg. "Keep the door locked."

"Don't worry," Krysty replied, rolling out of bed and starting to rummage around for her own clothing. "Door'll be locked and I'll keep a blaster in my hand. No way I'm going back to sleep now."

Ryan leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before stepping out into the dingy hotel hallway. He closed the door behind him and heard the lock slide home from the other side. Ryan then turned left, striding down to the end room that Doc was sharing with Dean and Jak. He softly rapped his knuckles against the door once. No answer came. Then he started to pound on the side of the frame and still got no response except from the room next door.

"You looking for somebody?" A plump woman in a revealing gown that rose partially above her naked hips stood there, looking Ryan up and down with a saucy eye.

"Not tonight, but thanks," he replied, and headed for the hotel lobby and admitting desk. He knew where he was going to search next.

WHEN RYAN ENTERED THE PUB, he had no trouble spotting his quarry.

Doc appeared to be staggering, stupefied drunk. He had removed his frock coat and hung it over the back of the spindly wooden chair he was slumped in. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing his lean arms down to the elbow. Still, even in his vaporous good cheer, Ryan noticed that he hadn't let his swordstick go far from within quick reach, and the snap on the holster of the unwieldy Le Mat was unsnapped for fast removal.

"Doc, you look crocked," Ryan said.

"I am, my dear Ryan Cawdor, I am," Doc crowed back happily, his breath a pungent mix of rye and gin and only the bartender and the empty bottles on his shelves knew what else. "Come, sit! Drink and be merryand you will sip for free! Everybody loves a winner! I have been the recipient of free bourbon all the night through thanks to our proud a.s.sociation! They have been playing a vid tape over and over on the pub's television of you smiting the steel dragon. You might yet have found your calling as slayer of androids."

A waitress came over, winding her way past the other tables and pub junkies. She was dressed in a short black skirt of faux leather, near sheer white hose, green shirt and matching green-and-white neckerchief. The subdued lighting in the pub helped shave years off her features and contribute to the illusion of a thirty-year-old temptress hoping for a tip.

"Nice eye patch," she said dryly. "What are you drinking?"

"Nothing."

"Uh-uh. Got to drink something, mister. This ain't a" she began.

"Get me a beer, then. Bring the whole f.u.c.king pitcher!"

"Simmer down, Patch," she retorted as she left to fill the angry request. "Usually people don't turn into raging a.s.sholes until after they've tasted the brew."

"She'll be back. Here," Doc said, handing Ryan a shot gla.s.s with a thin coating of amber fluid on the bottom. "Drink up!"

"Mebbe later," Ryan replied tightly. "Look, Doc. Snap up for a sec. Did Dean or Jak tell you where that vid arcade was supposed to be?"

"No, Ryan. They kept their destination private," Doc declared sadly. "Ah, children. What is one to do with the wee ones? I remember my own pair of imps, how rosy their cheeks would glow whenever they stumbled into some new mischief. Oh, how my dear Emily would shout whenever Rachel and my precious, sweet little Jolyon would get into the kitchen cupboards."

"Doc, we don't have time for the trip down memory lane," Ryan said. "Shake off the booze! We're going to have to go and find Dean and Jak. They'd never be out this late without good reason."

"You and I are both out in the early hours of the morning, Ryan. But I would give anything to be home in my own little wooden bed with the pillows Emily made herself and stuffed with goose feathers, my hand crooked in the hollow of her waist, listening to the soft sounds of her snoring."

As Doc spoke, tears started to fall down his lined cheeks.

"Listen to me, listen to me. I get a few sips of alcohol and I grow unbearably melancholy. How sad. n.o.body buys drinks for a sloppy drunk."

"I know, Doc, but I'm trying to deal with the here and now. If you want, I'll leave you behind while I go round up J.B., Mildred and Krysty. If we split up, we should be able to track them down, whether they're still in the vid arcade or not. We can go down to that directory list and find the place on the mall map."

Doc rested his head on the tacky surface of the table as the waitress returned with the requested pitcher of beer and an empty gla.s.s mug.

"You want me to pour?" she asked.

"Thanks. No. Sorry I bit your head off earlier," Ryan replied, digging out a wad of the mall currency from when he made the exchange at the Bank of Freedom. He pressed two of the higher-denomination bills into her waiting hand.