"And he said," Ran continued in the same wondering tone, "'No I didn't, boy.' And he told me to leave him alone, like he usually did. And he got even drunker that night than usual. And I didn't understand."
They were walking toward the south entrance to the square. The buildings to either side of the street had concrete walls on the ground floor but plastic for the upper three stories.
A bank had the corner location in one of the buildings. An outside staircase beside the bank served the upper floors. At its foot, six men in blue uniforms stood around a prostitute wearing a backless lime-green dress with fishnet stockings of the same hue. The color and pattern made her look like a reptile, an impression which her narrow face reinforced.
"They aren't wearing caps or nametags," Wanda said, recognizing trouble by the fact the group of men were prepared for it with anonymity.
"Look, not all of you," the whore said. "Two at a time, for another five over—"
"They're ours," Ran said, jolted back to the present and glad to return. "They're from the Cold Crew."
"Let's not have any trouble, gents," said the pimp walking up behind the group. He was tall and snake-thin. He kept his hands ostentatiously in his pockets. "Little Mary's going to give you—"
Two of the sailors spun as though they'd rehearsed the maneuver a hundred times—and maybe they had, in the docks and dives of that many planets. They grabbed the pimp by the elbows, bent his arms back, and hurled him against the window marked SECURITY FINANCE.
The protective grating saved the glass. The pimp bounced back. His hands flopped loose. There hadn't been time to use whatever weapon he carried. The whore screamed. A sailor grabbed her from behind, with one calloused hand across her mouth and the other gripping her throat.
Wanda reached under the front of her tunic. Ran caught her hand. "Mine," he said.
A proctor with a tall red hat and a brassard dangling on his chest turned toward the commotion. He carried a shock rod and a pair of stun-gas projectors.
A sailor pointed his index finger at the proctor. "You want some?" he cried. "There's plenty for you!"
Spectators spun as though the finger repelled them. The proctor stared up at the top floor of the building, then pivoted slowly and sauntered in the other direction.
The two men with the pimp hurled him again. This time they missed the window. The victim walloped soddenly against the concrete wall.
The prostitute wasn't struggling. Her eyes were alert but resigned.
Ran approached the group with his hands at his sides, fingers spread and empty One of the Cold Crewmen grunted a warning to the others.
"Want to join him, buddy?" a sailor snarled.
"Not me," said Ran. "Kephalonians, aren't you?"
It wasn't what the Cold Crewmen expected to hear from an officer of the Empress of Earth. Orders in a tone of false comradeship; wheedling perhaps; threats if the fellow was a fool, and he was fool enough to get involved, that was clear from the start.
"You got a problem with that?" the same sailor responded.
"Nope," Ran said. "Niko Mazurkas was from Kephalonia. I saw him dim three engines himself on the Askenazy for nine hours, till we made Manfred's Reach."
"Bullshit!" a sailor said. "You're a fucking officer!"
"You bet I am," Ran said. "Now. But I worked one engine and Niko worked three, nine hours and no relief. I was just a kid and it almost killed me, but we did it."
"God himself couldn't keep three engines trimmed smooth," said the man holding the whore.
"Smooth?" Ran crowed. "It was rough as a cob! But we got the bitch there, and we got five more men to replace the six gone blind from the rotgut they bought on Wanslea."
"Bullshit!" a sailor repeated.
"No, he's telling the truth," said the apparent leader. "Look at his rucking eyes."
The man holding the whore let her go, then gave her a little push to convince her that it was really happening.
"Ever since then," Ran said in a flat voice, staring a million klicks through the lichen-scaled concrete of the building, "I like to buy drinks for Kephalonians. Can I buy you men a drink?"
The Cold Crewmen looked at one another. "Naw, that's okay," the leader said. "Last thing I want is to have pay in my pocket when I go back aboard."
He took his soft cap out of his pocket and settled it on his head, then adjusted it by feel so that the legend embroidered on the tally, Empress of Earth, could be read by anyone looking at him.
"C'mon, you bastards," he added in gruff embarrassment. "Let's find a proper cathouse."
As the sailors strode off, arms akimbo and kicking their toes out with each step, one of those who had grabbed the pimp turned. "Hey, Lieutenant?" he called. "See you round!"