I looked inquiringly toward the empty chair, and, as Cochenour didn't tell me to get lost, I sat down in it and went on. "The Heechee built these tunnels a long time ago-maybe a quarter of a million years. Maybe more. They seem to have occupied them for some time, anything up to a century or two, give or take a lot. Then they went away again. They left a lot of junk behind, and some things that weren't junk. Among other things, they left thousands of these fans. Some local con-man-it wasn't BeeGee here, I think, but somebody like him-got the idea of calling the things 'prayer fans' and selling them to tourists to make wishes on."
Allemang had been hanging on my every word, trying to guess where I was going. "Partly, that's right," he admitted.
"All of it is right. But you two are too smart for that kind of thing. Still," I added, "look at the fans. They're pretty enough to be worth having even without the story."
"They are, absolutely!" Allemang cried. "See how this one sparkles, miss! And this black and gray crystal, how nice it looks with your fair hair!"
The girl unfurled the black and gray one. It came rolled like a diploma, only cone-shaped. It took just the slightest pressure of the thumb to keep it open, and it really sparkled very prettily as she gently waved it about. Like all the Heechee fans, it weighed only about ten grams, not counting the simulated-wood handles that people like BeeGee Allemang put on them. Its crystalline lattice caught the lights from the luminous Heechee-metal walls, as well as from the fluorescents and gas tubes we maze-runners had installed, and tossed all the lights back as shimmering, iridescent sparks.
"This fellow's name is Booker Garey Allemang," I told the Terries. "He'll sell you the same goods as any of the others, but he won't cheat you as much as most of them-especially with me watching."
Cochenour looked at me dourly, then beckoned Sub Vastra for another round of drinks. "All right," he said. "If we buy any of this we'll buy from you, Booker Garey Allemang. But not now." He turned to me. "And now what is it that you hope I'll buy from you?"
I spoke right up. "My airbody and me. If you want to go loking for new tunnels, we're both as good as you can get."
He didn't hesitate. "How much?"
"One million dollars," I said immediately. "Three-week charter, all found."
This time he didn't answer at once, although I was pleased to see that the price didn't seem to scare him away. He looked as receptive, or at least as merely bored, as ever. "Drink up," he said, as Vastra and his Third served us, and then he gestured with his glass to the Spindle around us. "Do you know what this is for?" he asked.
