Free Soldiers Out of Time by Steve White Page B

effect on him as it did on almost all twenty-fourth-century humans. “Will you keep any information I give you secret from Major Rojas and Captain Chang?”
    “You know I can’t promise that. But I’ll conceal its source.”
    McGillicuddy reached a decision. “There’s a Zirankh’shi of my acquaintance who knows what’s going on if anyone does. Come back here after dark, alone.”
    “Can I bring Superintendent Mondrago?”
    “All right, all right. But no IDRF people.”
    “Agreed.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Khankhazh’s main thoroughfares had gas-burning street lamps, many of which often worked. But the system did not extend into the precincts where McGillicuddy had his lodgings, and Jason and Mondrago hadn’t wanted to request light-gathering optics from the IDRF people and thereby arouse Rojas’ curiosity about what they were up to. And Zirankhu had no moon. So they had only the aid of flashlights as they picked their way through noisome streets and alleys lit only by oil lamps flickering inside windows and occasionally festooning the porches of eating places. There was, however, a glow to the west, for the criminal district of Khankhazh was close to the spaceport.
    Jason was sure they were in no particular danger. The Zirankh’shi had learned the inadvisability of molesting humans, and McGillicuddy—who knew the way well enough to require no flashlight—was well known here, and occasionally exchanged greetings with acquaintances whose disreputability was unmistakable even across the gulf of race and culture. Jason was not qualified to say how good the mercenary’s command of the local language was—human vocal apparatus couldn’t form its sounds any better than the Zirankh’shi could manage Standard International English, if that. Still, he seemed to be able to make himself understood.
    “So, Mario,” said Jason as they turned down a more-than-usually uninviting alley, “tell me about this individual you’re taking us to see.”
    “Well, he’s something of an odd duck. Almost sui generis , you might say. He’s extremely old, and used to be an imperial official—quite a high-ranking one, in fact. But he got in trouble, partly as a result of drinking—alcohol affects the Zirankh’shi nervous system in the same way it does the human one, you understand—but mostly because he could never restrain himself from expressing his opinion of the brain-dead bureaucracy. However, they could never come up with grounds to actually expel him, given his eminence. He still retains his rank—it’s just that his services were never required again. So he’s set up shop as a . . . there’s really no way to describe it. ‘Private investigator’ doesn’t cover it. A sort of solver of problems for people who don’t want to go through official channels . . . which nobody ever does, if they can help it, what with all the bribery and red tape it entails.”
    “Of course,” Jason nodded. It was a familiar pattern.
    They turned into a narrow, winding alley, stepping gingerly over the prevailing filth with the aid of their flashlights. The only other illumination was the flickering lamplight in the windows of a sagging shack at the alley’s end. This proved to be their destination, somewhat to Jason’s discomfiture. But McGillicuddy banged on the door unhesitatingly. The Zirankh’shi who opened it was clearly young, to anyone who knew the indicia. He was also the most physically formidable specimen of his race that Jason had yet seen—not extraordinarily tall but broad-framed and heavily muscled to such an extent as to deviate from this species’ norm as much as a champion professional wrestler or weightlifter did from that of Homo sapiens . Jason got the impression that, at least in this his native gravity field, he would be a match for the average human.
    He exchanged a few words with McGillicuddy, who turned to Jason. “This is Luzho’Yuzho—a typical peasant name, which is exactly what he is. He’s an