The Gripping Hand by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle Read Free Book Online

They never found anything. Money into a rat hive."
     
     

    "Too bad."
     
     

    "You won't find a shop that sells only the opal meerschaum. It's sporadic. There hasn't been a new source in twenty years, that's why it's so high. Some of us think it comes from the north. The north is more geologically active, and the fliers mostly go out in that direction."
     
     

     
     
     

    "But he was willing to bargain," Renner told his pocket computer, set to RECORD. "Two other dealers offered me deals, too. That's three out of four. I think they're expecting a new source anytime now. That would drop the price. It would fit the cycles you noticed, slow rise in price, peak, steep drop, every twenty years or so."
     
     

    He put the computer away. The taxi settled and let him out. He was in a narrow wedge of manicured forest, in Tanner Park, and a bridge was in view of the north.
     
     

    Across the bridge: the spill. It wasn't quite a slum; but the houses crowded too close, and potholes and broken lightstrips weren't repaired at once, and the crime rate was high. Renner hadn't wanted to get out of a taxi here. He strolled through the streets, looking for what there was to see.
     
     

    That sign: THE MAGUEY WORM, on a tall concrete building painted in garish murals. Surely that was where he had fried his brains, night before last? Not that it mattered much. Renner went in.
     
     

    Midafternoon. Not much of a crowd: four at the bar, two at a big table, all men. Working men, by their look: comfortable, durable clothes. Renner ordered waterwing liqueur and settled back to soak up atmosphere.
     
     

    There are those who prey on tourists. . . .
     
     

    But nobody made a move. He might have been invisible.
     
     

    Renner unwrapped his package. Carefully he filled the bowl of the pipe with tobacco, then lit up.
     
     

    Staring is a universal insult, and nobody was; but others had become aware of his existence. Renner said aloud, "The old guy was right. That's a terrific smoke." It was true.
     
     

    "I wouldn't know," the bartender said, and a brawny guy two chairs down said, "Amen." He was wearing several layers of clothing, like the hunters of two nights ago. Geared for cold, wearing it all because it was the easiest way to carry it.
     
     

    Renner looked disconcerted. "Oops. I should have asked—"
     
     

    "Smoking's allowed in the Maguey Worm." The bartender jerked his thumb upward, at the high ceiling and slowly turning fans. "Go ahead, it'll give the place a bit of class. I'm told you should be drinking skellish with that, for the taste. Or B and B."
     
     

    "Pour me a skellish, then, bubble on the side. A round for the house. You, too."
     
     

    "The house thanks you," the bartender said. "Amen," said six customers, and the house became busy.
     
     

    One of the hunters raised his glass to Renner. "You were in here—what, two nights ago?"
     
     

    "Wednesday," the bartender said. "We don't get a lot of off-planet trade here." His voice was friendly, but it held a question.
     
     

    Renner shrugged.
     
     

    The hunter came over to Renner's table. "Mind? . . . Thanks." He sat and looked pointedly at Renner's pipe. "He sure ain't broke."
     
     

    Renner grinned. "I got lucky once." The trick is to imply that anyone can get lucky. "I'm a rich man's pilot. I can play tourist when I'm on a planet, while Bury busts his ass making more money."
     
     

    "You want local color, you came to the right place. I'm Ajax Boynton."
     
     

    "Kevin Renner."
     
     

    "Sir Kevin," Boynton said. "Saw you on tri-vee. Hey, fellows, we got a celebrity."
     
     

    Renner grinned. "Pull up a chair. Tell me tall tales." He waved to the bartender, who had politely moved out of earshot. "Another round."
     
     

    Four more joined him. Two ordered straight orange juice. It cost as much as liquor. They introduced themselves as the Scott brothers, James and Darwin.
     
     

    "I take it things are slow?" Kevin asked.
     
     

    "A