On the Trail of the Space Pirates_ A Tom Corbett Space Cadet Adventure - Carey Rockwell [305]
"Where do we get our safari gear, Astro?" asked Roger.
"In the secondhand shops along Spaceman's Row," replied the big Venusian. "We can get good equipment down there at half the price."
The cab turned abruptly off the main highway and began twisting through a section of the city shunned by the average Venusian citizen. Spaceman's Row had a long and unsavory history. For ten square blocks it was the hide-out and refuge of the underworld of space. The grimy stores and shadowy buildings supplied the needs of the countless shadowy figures who lived beyond the law and moved as silently as ghosts.
Leaving the jet cab, the three cadets walked along the streets, past the cheaply decorated store fronts and dingy hallways, until they finally came to a corner shop showing the universal symbol of the pawnshop: three golden balls. Tom and Roger looked at Astro who nodded, and they stepped inside.
The interior of the shop was filthy. Rusted and worn space gear was piled in heaps along the walls and on dusty counters. An old-fashioned multiple neon light fixture cast an eerie blue glow over everything. Roger grimaced as he looked around. "Are you sure we're in the right place, Astro?"
Tom winked. Roger had a reputation for being fastidious.
"This is it," nodded Astro. "I know the old geezer that runs this place. Nice guy. Name's Spike." He turned to the back of the shop and bawled, "Hey, Spike! Customers!"
Out of the gloomy darkness a figure emerged slowly. "Yeah?" The man stepped out into the pale light. He dragged one foot as he walked. "Whaddaya want?"
Astro looked puzzled. "Where's Spike?" he asked. "Doesn't Spike Freyer own this place?"
"He died a couple months ago. I bought him out just before." The crippled man eyed the three cadets warily. "Wanna buy something?"
Astro looked shocked. "Spike, dead? What happened?"
"How should I know," snarled the little man. "I bought him out and he died a few weeks later. Now, you wanna buy something or not?"
"We're looking for jungle gear," said Tom, puzzled by the man's strange belligerence.
"Jungle gear?" the man's eyes widened. "Going hunting?"
"Yeah," supplied Roger. "We need complete outfits for three. But you don't look like you have them. Let's go, fellas." He turned toward the door, anxious to get out into the open air.
"Just a minute! Just a minute, Cadet," said the proprietor eagerly. "I've got some fine hunting gear here! A little used, but you won't mind that! Save you at least half on anything you'd buy up in the city." He started toward the back of the store and then paused. "Where you going hunting?"
"Why?" asked Tom.
"So I'll know what kind of gear you need. Light—heavy—kind of guns—"
"Jungle belt in the Eastern Hemisphere," supplied Astro.
"Big game?" asked the man.
"Yeah. Tyrannosaurus."
"Tyranno, eh?" nodded the little man. "Well, now, you'll need heavy stuff for that. I'd say at least three heavy-duty paralo-ray pistols for side arms, and three shock rifles. Then you'll need camping equipment, synthetics, and all the rest." He counted the items off on grubby little fingers.
"Let's take a look at the blasters," said Tom.
"Right this way," said the man. He turned and limped to the rear of the shop, followed by the three cadets. Opening a large cabinet, he pulled out a heavy rifle, a shock gun that could knock out any living thing at a range of a thousand yards, and stun the largest animal at twice the distance.
"This blaster will knock the scales off any tyranno that you hit," he said, handing the weapon over to Tom who expertly broke it down and examined it.
As Tom checked the gun, the proprietor turned to the other cadets casually.
"Why would three cadets want to go into that section of the jungle belt?"
"We just told you," said Roger. "We're hunting tyranno."
"Uh, yes, of course." He turned away and pulled three heavy-duty paralo-ray pistols out of the cabinet. "Now these ray guns are the finest money can buy. Standard