Space For Hire (Seven For Space) (3 page)

"Have a good trip, Mr. Space," said Dr. Umani. He'd dropped the stage dialect and his tone was cultured and properly professorial. "You may be assured that my daughter has not overstressed our dire need. Those bodies must arrive undamaged in order to insure the future success of my work." He smiled gently, dark eyes gleaming. "One could almost say — the future success of mankind."

I didn't have any reply to that.

A case was a case, and I was just glad to be working again.

I felt naked aboard the
President Agnew
on the Mars-Earth run. No civilian firearms were permitted anywhere on the ship, and my .38 had been officially impounded until touchdown. They told me I could obtain a special permit to carry it on the return run — but for this trip I was on board without a weapon. Naked against mine enemies …

Well, not quite. I'm trained in seventeen forms of solar combat, and can snap the trunk of a small pine tree with a double reverse dropkick, providing my shoes are on. I broke a toe trying it barefoot.

I was sitting on the aisle next to a pair of young Martians who were passionately probe-rubbing each other into a norxca state, which is the highest sexual level a Martian can achieve short of fleeking, and you can't fleek on board a spaceship. Since secondary sexual response is triggered from a Martian's outer probe there was nothing abnormal in what they were doing. But it made me nervous.

I grinned. Hell, Space, I told myself, you're getting old and crabby when a couple of oversexed Martian teeners can put you on edge. Relax. Grab some shuteye. The trip back to Mars just might be a rough one.

I was about to doze when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun sideways and dropped to one knee in the aisle, into a quick-combat position.

"Try that on a ship that isn't gravity-regulated and you'll be banging your head on the ceiling," said a sensual voice above me. "Are you always this tense, Mr. Space?"

Earthgirl. In her twenties. Tall. Full-breasted. Upper slopes and nipples exposed in the conventional manner of Earth dress. Her waist-length red hair was diamond dusted and smelled of English heather. She had freckles on her nose. A pleasant change of pace from the kill-crazed Moon hood I was expecting to encounter. But I didn't mention Loonies to her; I just asked how she knew my name.

"Captain Shirley was kind enough to supply it," the girl said. "I told her it was an emergency, that I needed the aid of a private investigator, and she cooperated."

It figured, I thought sourly. You can't trust female space captains. They'll blab secrets to any other female on board. In my day, when I jockeyed the tubs, no female ever reached officer status. But the old days were over.

"I won't be any help," I said, sitting down again. "I'm on a case right now."

"But I only need you temporarily as an escort," she pleaded. "To accompany me from this ship to my life unit in Allnew York in Cen Park South. Couldn't you just take some time off from whatever case you're on to escort me there?"

"I'm booked on the
President Reagan
back to Bubble City tonight, "I told her.

She smiled and sat down across the aisle from me. "But the
Reagan
doesn't leave for several hours. I've often taken it and, if anything, it's usually late in launching. You'll have just oodles of time to take me to my unit!"

"Why do you need an escort?" I was staring at her nipples. One of them had winked at me; she was wearing sex-o-tract on them, which created that effect. Winking nipples attract Earthmales nine times out of ten. She was playing all her cards face up.

"A certain dangerous individual has threatened to kill me when I get off this ship," she said.

"What certain dangerous individual?"

"His name is Thiam Ghong. From one of the dogstar planets. I found him attractive and we bedmated for a halfyear. Then I left him for a trisex pairing with an onion smuggler from Neptune. That was just before my affair with a spongeweed salesman from Ursa Major."

"Wow!" I said. "You do get around, lady."

She frowned. "I'm sexually potent if that's what you mean. But aren't most young Earthgirls these days?"

I grinned as her left nipple winked at me. "You got me there, sister," I admitted. "So what about his Ghong character?"

She sniffed, wrinkling her freckled nose. "He's just a sore loser. Thiam found out I was returning to Earth on the
Agnew
and has threatened to kill me when we land. Out of, I suppose, jealous rage. With you along he won't try anything."

"What about later?" I asked her. "What about after I'm gone?"

"I'll carry a body weapon. I have one in my unit. They won't allow them aboard ship. Captain Shirley's very firm about body weapons."

"I know," I said, patting my empty shoulder clip. "My .38's in cold storage."

"Will you help me, Mr. Space?" She had eyeglow on her pupils, and they gleamed like twin stars. To match the diamonds in her hair. She was some patootie.

"That's the second time in the last twenty-four hours I've been asked that question by a female in trouble," I said. "But, what the hell, I can never turn down a winking nipple."

She laughed musically, and plumped herself in my lap. "My name is Nicole," she said. "And I wish to seduce you."

Our lips locked in a deep tongue that was hot enough to take paint off an Earth wall. The two Martians were still madly rubbing probes, so they didn't notice us.

Frankly, beyond this stage of the trip, I didn't notice them either.

* * *

We had no trouble at touchdown. I got my .38 back and told Nicole to wait in the ship while I scouted the outside terrain. She'd given me a complete description of Ghong, but I didn't really need it. A dogstar male is a cinch to spot in a crowd. You don't miss characters who are nine feet tall with furry orange ears.

"Okay, it's all clear," I assured the girl. "But stick close to me. If he

shows, I'll deal with him." She gave me a sensual smile, pressing her body against mine. "I'm sure you can deal with anything, Mr. Space."

I flagged an aircab and we got inside."Call me Sam," I said.

"But that's what I was going to ask you to call me," she pouted.

"You said your name was Nicole." I arched a puzzled eyebrow.

"But my middle name is Samantha, and all my pals call me Sam."

"I'm not your pal, sister. To me, you're Nicole. That's French, isn't it?"

"My mother was born in Paris. I spent most of my childhood there. My father was from the New West Coast of America. He's from Santa Fe."

"That's nice," I said, nodding. This kind of small talk kept us occupied until we reached her life unit, facing Cen Park South. We tubed up and she palmed the door, with me covering her with my .38 in case the dogstar gent showed. I was ready for him.

What I wasn't ready for was the quick body strip she performed once we were inside. Before I could gulp twice, she was down to her natural lushly-pink self. It all happened so fast I forgot to check the unit. With all that creamy Earth flesh beckoning I dropped the .38 and went for her.

Which is when the sky dropped on me. Red and gold rockets exploded inside my skull and I tumbled forward into deep space, black and unending.

Black …

Then red …

Blue … flaring into raw yellow.

Intense, stabbing yellow. I blinked, squinted, put up a hand to shade my eyes. I was on the floor of Nicole's life unit, lying in a pool of hot yellow sunlight.

Dragging myself to the window, I looked out. The shadows in Cen-Park told me it was too late.

I'd missed the
Reagan
!

Dr. Umani's bodies had been shipped to Mars without me, and would no doubt be hijacked enroute.

A lush patootie with winking nipples had played me for a patsy.

I groped for my .38, found it, checked the load. It hadn't been touched. I holstered the gun and cracked open a pack of Headrights. No detective should be without them. I placed two of the small, pea-shaped capsules against the sore side of my skull. They immediately penetrated skin and bone, going to work on my king-size headache.

Within five seconds I was myself again.

I quick-scanned the unit. No Nicole. Which didn't surprise me; I hadn't expected her to stick around after I'd been sapped.

Obviously she worked for the same outfit who wanted Umani's experiment to fail. The old geezer was probably dead by now, with no spare bodies around for a brain switch. For all I knew, they'd killed Esma too. Everything had gone to blazes and I was the bozo to blame. I'd walked into the sap job like an Earth ox to slaughter.

A thorough search revealed nothing of real worth. Apparently Nicole hadn't waited to pack because her clothes and cosmetics were still in the unit. I found the name Harmsworth on a zipcase. Otherwise, I'd drawn a blank. No pictures. No intimate personal effects. No letters. Nicole Samantha Harmsworth had flown a neat coop. She'd left nothing to tie her into any gang or organization.

I checked with the management on the way out, taking the off-chance I might be able to snag a second address for my pigeon.

"No," muttered the unit clerk, who was a scrawny number with sunken, sallow cheeks. "I'm afraid Miss Harmsworth has not seen fit to supply us with any past address." He gave me a skeletal smile. "After all, she's been with us now for twenty full years."

"That's not possible," I told him. "She can't be a day past twenty-five. And she told me she grew up in Paris. Are you sure you've got the right Nicole Harmsworth?"

The clerk seemed confused. He waved a skinny hand. "There is only one Harmsworth in our conapt — and her name is Emily. She's seventy-six, lost her last bedmate back when she first joined us here. A skycab fell on him. Sad. Freak accident. If you'd like to leave a message formic Emily I'll see that she gets it. Right now she's out walking her neardogs. She always walks them this time of day."

"You been on duty here all afternoon?"

He said he had been.

"See a red-haired girl, young, pretty, leave here with maybe another guy?"

"No, it's been very quiet this period. The only person I've seen leave the unit is Miss Emily with her near dogs. Now, if you'd like to …"

"Is there a back door out of this joint?"

"Naturally," said the thin bird. "But it is locksealed during our day-periods."

"Mind if I check it?"

"Follow me," he said.

We checked the back. The seal was still in place.

"Thanks, Mac," I said.

Outside, I was stumped. How had the girl and her goon slipped bold scrawny? Apparently they'd used the Harmsworth unit just to have me sapped in — but how did Nicole know the palm combination? And I wondered where Emily Harmsworth had been during all the time I was lying unconscious on the floor of her unit. Maybe she was in on the deal. But I doubted it. The facts didn't add up.

I took a skycab back to the launch port and checked with MarsLine to make certain nothing had happened to the
Reagan
enroute to Bubble City. I half expected to be told the ship had been waylaid by pirates.

I was told something a lot more unsettling.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there is no
President Reagan
on the Earth-Mars run," declared the MarsLine rep. "I have never heard of a ship so named. The only MarsLine craft which left for Mars within the past daynight is the President Wallace."

"You're batso!" I snapped. "My name's Sam Space. I was booked for Bubble City. Look up my reservation."

He gave me a cool stare, and then ruffled through a long passenger listing. "I have no entry on any MarsLine flight for you, Mr. Space."

I was sore. I began spitting words at him. "I don't know what kind of runaround you're feeding me, but I'm not buying it. Either you ‘relying or your data is all cockeyed. I was definitely booked to accompany a shipment of coldpac bodies being shipped on board the
Reagan
to Dr. Emmanuel Q. Umani on Mars." I paused for breath. "Now, don't tell me you've never heard of him!"

The deskrep raised a slow eyebrow. "Why — why, yes … I've heard of Dr. Umani. Naturally. He's in all the papes."

"I don't get you."

"He was assassinated two Earth-days ago in Bubble City. Dr. Umani had been using another body, but they verified the ID through brain analysis. Three Moon criminals were apparently involved."

"Go on," I said softly.

"They also eliminated Dr. Umani's adopted daughter, a Miss Esma Umani, as well as the businessman she had contacted."

"Remember the businessman's name?"

He bit his lower lip, concentrating. "Wait … I have a pape here somewhere. Ah!" He brought one out, handed it to me.

I read the story and sighed. "Okay, I want you to book me on the next flight out for Mars."

"Gladly, sir."

I had a funeral to attend.

* * *

I stared down at the corpse in the plastocasket: a big, beefy guy in his middle-thirties with a scar on his right cheek and a cruel mouth. Black hair, thick eyebrows. It was a face that had taken a lot of wallops, and the nose was dented, the ears pugged.

"Too bad, Sam," I said, "you were a good man."

It was me, and no mistake. The eyes were closed but they were my eyes — dark and deep and as cruel as the mouth. I even recognized the cheap grey pseudsuit; I'd bought it on Uranus from a crooked little clothes hawk with six arms and no soul.

"Are you a friend of the deceased?" A soft-looking Funeral Captain was standing next to me, attempting to look properly bereaved.

"We grew up together in Old Chicago," I said. "But we've been out of touch for a while. I just read about his death in the papes. Thought I'd stop by and pay my last respects."

"How very thoughtful of you. I am sure that Mr. Space would have appreciated the gesture. How do you like him?"

"Huh?"

"Our job, I mean. The face is so composed, so at peace with the world. When we got him he was something of a mess."

"He looks great," I said.