Podolski wiped at his eyes. Was he crying? He hadn't noticed. He wondered where Mangler and Wain were. They were supposed to be protecting him. They were supposed to be right outside.
"Who are you?" said Podolski.
"You might say we're the keepers of the peace around here," the man said. "And seeing as how there's been a disruption in the peace recently, our first question is: Who are the new people on the station? Maybe they have some information on this. You follow me? Logical detective work."
"I don't know anything," said Podolski.
The man smiled. "Now, now, friend. Don't cut yourself so short. You know lots of things I'm sure. Like your name for instance. You know that much, don't you?"
"Gunther Podolski."
"Podolski," repeated the man, smiling. "You see? You do have information. Now, what ship did you come in on?"
"Where are my friends?" asked Podolski, finding his courage now. "The ones who were outside."
The big man tried to hide his annoyance. "Your friends are being cooperative, Podolski. We're asking them questions, and they're happy to answer them. You should answer them, too. It'll make it easier for everyone."
Podolski said nothing.
The big man eyed Podolski's bag anchored to the table and opened it. Inside were various holopads and equipment for accessing and wiping El Cavador. The big man whistled. "You're not packing light, are you Mr. Podolski? These are some fancy machines, all so shiny and new. If I didn't know any better I'd say this was corporate gear."
Podolski said nothing.
"I won't lie to you, Mr. Podolski, this is bad news for you." He held up the bag. "This is incriminating evidence. One of the honorable entrepreneurs of this weigh station was robbed and murdered two days ago along with several of his employees, and this bag makes you a prime suspect. Personally, I didn't much care for the man, but he was one of our citizens, and more importantly, he owed me a good deal of money. Then suddenly I find you, Mr. Podolski, a stranger with all this equipment for robbing people."
"That's not what it's for," said Podolski.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Got other plans, do you? Enlighten me."
Podolski said nothing.
The big man sighed. "You're not being cooperative, Mr. Podolski. I'm no lawyer, but that makes you look guilty." He took a step closer. "Now if you have Mr. Staggar's money, this could all be resolved rather easily."
"I don't have his money," said Podolski. "I don't know who you're talking about."
The man smiled. "You may not know his name, but you know the man. I'll refresh your memory. Dead guy. Docking tunnel. Ugly as a rock, probably from getting hit in the face over the years for being obstinate just like you."
The man's hand was suddenly around Podolski's neck, squeezing. Podolski gagged. His windpipe felt crushed. The man's fingernails dug into Podolski's skin.
"These aren't difficult questions, Mr. Podolski. I'm trying to be reasonable, and you're not meeting me halfway. So I'll be clearer for your sake. You give me whatever cash you took from Mr. Staggar, and I'll do a poor job with the paperwork and forget you and I shared words. That strikes me as a reasonable proposition. What do you say?"
Podolski saw spots. His lungs screamed for air. He wanted to assure the man that he didn't have what he was looking for. He tried to say, "I can't give you what I don't have." But all that came out in a wheezy desperate whisper was, "I can't."
The man took it as defiance.
Podolski was flying. The man had thrown him, and Podolski was weightless. Podolski went through the doorway and out into the marketplace, his arm striking the door frame as he passed. He heard something snap. His body spun. People screamed and dodged. He hit something else midflight--he didn't know what--then struck the shielded glass wall opposite and bounced away. The big man caught him in the air and slammed him back face-first against the glass. Podolski's arm was broken. He could feel it bent awkwardly behind him. The man was at his ear, saying something, but Podolski couldn't make it out. Everything sounded muffled and distant.
Beyond the glass was space, black and silent and sprinkled with stars. Podolski wanted to tell the man that he had money for passage to Luna. The man could have that. Podolski didn't care. But the words wouldn't form in his mouth. They were buzzing around inside him, but he couldn't grasp them and get them out.
He is going to kill me, thought Podolski. I am going to die here, alone, eight billion klicks from home.
There was a distant flash of light in space.
Then the sky was no longer black. It was a wall of green, flameless fire rushing forward. And in the microsecond before it consumed everything and burned up the world, Podolski realized that death was coming after all, though not in any way he had expected. Nor was he--it turned out--going to die alone. Wasn't life full of surprises?
CHAPTER 17
Allies