Look Out For Space (Seven For Space) (7 page)

He was referring bitterly to the fact that I was from Bubble City. Newer New Old New Yorkers hate the place the way people used to hate Los Angeles before the quake swallowed it. They seem to need a city to hate and mine fit the bill. I decided to ignore his crack.

"I can pay," I said, unpeeling a roll of solar credits.

He gave me a smile. "That's more like it."

And I paid.

I didn't have to switch planets to find my klepto. She was attending some kind of alien "scificon" in Alamogordo, New Mexico, a quick ten minute jet jaunt from Newer New Old New York.

This event was taking place at the White Sands Atomic Blast Motel and at the receptdesk they told me she was representing Earth on a "Cosmic Sex Customs" panel in the main fenroom.

The panelists were into it hot and heavy when I got there. A purple twinhead from Antar, with mottled chestfarbs, was yelling at a tri-tongued toadwoman from Capella.

"Are you trying to tell
me
, Miss Petzler, that satisfactory intercourse is possible with a
single
penis?" the twinhead bellowed.

"Absolutely!" the toadwoman yelled back. "Just because the males on your planet have two heads and three pricks, you assume an offensive air of sexual superiority!"

"Talk about offensive!" countered the twinhead. "At least I don't openly refer to the male sex organ as a 'prick'!"

"Ladies … ladies … let's have order!" shouted the moderator, a reed-skin from the Dogstar System. Her snaky tail bristled with dignity.

A testy silence settled over the panelists.

"I think we should let Susan Sunbright, our panelist from Earth, respond to Miss Grinstead's question." And she nodded to my klepto.

Susan Sunbright was a knockout. An elfin face dusted with sun freckles; long, gold-flecked hair to her waist; a pouting, sensuous mouth. She was seated, so I couldn't see her legs, but I knew they would be first rate (which they were). Her voice matched the rest of her, lush and vibrant.

"Well, I really don't have a great deal of multi-penis experience," she admitted. "But, to quote the saying, 'It ain't no matter who owns the store, it's how you use the merchandise.' At least I …"

"No, no.
That's
not how it goes," cut in the fourth panelist, a feathered tri-sexual from Titan. "It's 'Never mind the mishkas, just deliver the mulligan!' I'm sure that …"

This touched off a strident shouting match between the three off-Earth panelists, which was terminated by the angry moderator who declared the discussion at an end.

When Susan Sunbright stepped down from the speaker's pod I introduced myself.

"I've never met a private detective from Mars," she said. "How many penises do you have?"

"Just one," I said. "I'm Earthborn, like you."

She nodded, looking me over. "You'd be quite attractive without your hair."

"You like baldies, eh?"

"My sexual bent lies in that direction," she admitted.

"Look, could I buy you a cofcup? We need to talk."

"About what?"

"Tell you over cof."

She shrugged a pretty shoulder. "Why not?" And her smile gave me an instant erection.

* * *

In the cofshop I found out that her name wasn't really Susan Sunbright.

"My legal name is Emma Irmaline Gretch." And she grimaced. Even then she was beautiful. "Can you imagine going through life with a name like that?"

"I love your freckles," I said.

"They're not mine. I use Freckle On. But I'm glad you approve of the effect." She stirred sugar into her cof. "Do you like my breasts?"

"Definitely," I said."I'm small breasted. Always worried about whether males will like small jugs. A lot don't.""You're terrific all over," I said. She looked at me with intense, long lashed, blue lake eyes. "Don't you think it's time to tell me what you came here for?""I came to find this," I said, handing her the spec sheet on Brother

T's asteroid. She studied it carefully. Handed it back."Sorry, but I've never stolen one quite
that
small." An elfin smile.

"You do know I'm a klepto, of course."

"Of course." I folded away the specsheet. "And what you steal is your business. Mine is getting back this piece of rock. How can I be sure you're not lying to me?"

"You can't be sure of
anything,
Mr. Space," she said, and I felt her right leg rub against my left one under the plastable. "For example, I never thought I'd want to bed down a fly-by-night detective with a gross amount of body hair — but I suppose one is truly never sure of anything."

I gulped.

* * *

I had five erections before I left Earth and Susan Sunbright took care of all five. By the time I was back in Bubble City I was desperately in love. Again.

Thus far, I'd drawn a total blank on the missing asteroid. Not one of my leads had paid off: not Iberia, or McKabe or Halfcat or Collingo or Susan Sunbright. None of them had the rock. That much I was sure of. It was just too goddam
puny
to merit their attention, and I began to feel like a prize chump for taking on the case.

I should be working class stuff, I told myself. Like that big onion caper I was hired for by Josiah Herman Rabarnack. Chasing a piddle-poop asteroid halfway around the universe was nothing short of
depressing.

I made up my mind to vid Brother Thad when I got back to the office, telling him I was off the case. Send him a faxbill and call it a wrap.

But when I walked into my sleazy office, my plans changed.

I wasn't going to be vidding Brother T. because he was right there in my warped flexchair, his back to me. He didn't move when I walked around the desk to face him and that was easy to understand. You wouldn't be moving either if somebody dumped a .38 nitro-charge into your belly.

I was leaning toward him for a bod check when a sharp voice warned me not to touch the evidence. I recognized the cadenced Irish lilt of my ole pal, Police Sergeant O' Malley of Mars Homicide.

He was standing in the doorway with two cops as mean looking as he was. They had their guns out.

"You're under arrest for murder, Sam," O' Malley growled. "Do you have a statement to make?"

"Sure, I have one to make," I said. "I'm innocent."

O'Malley tipped back his red-nosed Irish head and snorted out a laugh. "That's what you
always
say
,
every time I pin ya for murder."

"Yeah, and every time I say it you end up letting me go for lack of evidence."

"Well, this time we
got
the evidence, Space!" snapped the big Irishman. He counted off on his fingers: "Victim of
your
acquaintance. Dead in
your
office. Shot with a .38 nitro — which
you
carry." He chuckled. "I figger that's enough for a start, laddie!"

"Why would I shoot my own client?"

"We'll get to your motive in due course. Right now …" He gestured toward one of the two beefcakes with him. "Put the grippers on him, Kelly."

While Kelly was doing this I tried more logic with O'Malley.

"And if I
did
kill him, why would I be dumb enough to come back here to visit the body?"

"Don't you ever read detective fiction?" he asked me. "Murderers always return to the scene of the crime."

And they led me out.

* * *

"Who tipped you on Brother T's demise?" I asked. We were in the Questionroom at HQ and my wrists were still grippered behind my back as I sat blinking into the raw flare of a pinbeam.

"Redhaired woman with erect nipples," said O'Malley.

"I
thought
so," I said. "And after putting the finger on me, she disappeared. Right?"

O'Malley clucked his thick Irish tongue against the roof of his mouth. "As a matter of fact, she did," he admitted. "How did you know that?"

"Because this same frail sent me on a wild gooser to Zuber III," I told him. "For some reason I can't fathom, she's out to nail my skin to the wall. And I also can't fathom that quick vanish act of hers."

O'Malley leaned close to me; his breath smelled like an abandoned tubeway. "Why did Brother Thaddius come to
you
to find his asteroid when he could have gone to the police?"

"It was a gray market buy and he wasn't ready to admit that to a cop," I said.

Kelly spoke up. "Maybe that hard-nippled frail is mixed up with all the missing rocks, Sarge."

"What's he talking about?" I asked O'Malley.

"Brother T's asteroid isn't the only hunk of private rock that's been snatched of late," said the Irishman. "We've had a whole rash of scattered reports on stolen asteroids in the last Marsmonth."

"
How
scattered?"

"Well, the main concentration has come from around the Fat Marble," he said. "But we've also had maybe a dozen or so snatched from our area."

I pondered this. "Any suspects?"

"At first we figured it was rock rustlers — but since all of these rocks are so
small
, we figured they wouldn't be worth a pro's effort."

I found this a very interesting piece of info. "No big ones snatched?"

"Nope. The specs show them well below average size. All dinks."

"I say you'd better find that redhead and ask her some questions."

"We intend to, Sam," O'Malley said. "But we owe her for telling us where to grab you." He fired up one of this foul smelling Mercurian cigars and blew the smoke into my face. "Now all this asteroid crapolais obscuring the real question at hand which is: How come you croaked the planet preach?"

"Check my .38 against the charge in his tummy," I said. "You'll find they don't match. Which means you can't hold me."

O'Malley answered a light tapping at the door. One of his lab boys was there with a foil report. "We checked out Sam's .38 against the charge in the guy's belly," said the lab jockey. "They don't match, Sarge."

"By damn!" O'Malley swung back to face me, his jaw working the cigar. He looked like an enraged Martian sandbull. "I can't hold ya, Sam!"

I grinned at him, getting up from the gripchair. "And, once again, the innocent private eye, harassed by the brutal, insensitive Sergeant of Police, emerges free and clear of the cruel and unjust allegations levied against him."

O'Malley bit completely through his cigar. He waved to Kelly. "Get him
out
of here!"

And he slammed from the room, muttering obscenities.

I've developed a bad habit: whenever somebody murders a client of mine, then tries to stiff me for the job, I get curious. It costs me time and money, but I can't seem to resist the temptation to find some answers.

So, after I left O'Malley, I booked a warpflight to Jupiter. Twenty-five billion square miles of planet. The Fat Marble.

I wanted to talk to Police Inspector McFarlin.

The first time we'd met, a few years ago, things had been a little sticky. I'd been arrested, questioned by McFarlin, then sent down for a machine brainwash. But, by now, Mac knew I was legit. I'd asked for his help on at least two other capers and for a Jupecop he was plenty okay in my book.

Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against Jupecops. They do their job and I do mine. It's just that I feel kind of sappy exchanging wisecracks with a three inch mouse, which is how long Police Inspector McFarlin is. But to the planet's mouse folk, he's a national hero. An honest rodent who can't be bought for all the cheese in the galaxy.

And total honesty is rare in the System.

I was grateful for one thing: they'd finally developed a neutral gravity inside the domes and I didn't have to strap on a lousy contra-gravbelt to offset my 190 pounds of fighting flab. First time I ever met McFarlin under Jupe gravity, I scaled in at 450. which was disgusting .Out of customs, I grabbed a jumper to Mouse Headquarters and asked to see McFarlin.

"Do you have an appointment?" queried the officious little reception mouse at the front desk. She had cute whiskers and her tail was pink.

"Mac'll see me, sweetheart. Just tell him Sam's here. From Bubble City."

She moused away to find out if he'd talk to me.

He would.

"Sam! How
fine
to see you!" He said this with great warmth.

We didn't embrace. For one thing you can't embrace a mouse. But I shook his paw, holding it between my thumb and index finger, then sat down in front of his desk. He activated a riser, which brought the desk up to a level with my nose.

"What brings you to the Marble?" he wanted to know, lacing his brown paws in front of him and looking at me over the edge of his tiny rimless glasses.

I told him about Brother T. and the events as they'd happened in the case, including the fact that a vanishing redhead had tried to frame me for a homicide.

" … but mainly I'm here to find out all you can tell me about stolen rocks —
small
stolen rocks. Seems the asteroid I was chasing isn't the only missing pee wee."

"Indeed it is not," said the Inspector. "We've had a rash of odd reports from various segments of space, most of them fairly close to the Marble, regarding the theft of any number of extremely small asteroids."

"And what's your theory?"

McFarlin spread his paws. "I have none. This is obviously not the work of rustlers or random rock thieves. The pattern is consistent, tying in with another series of odd reports within the same period."

"What other reports?"

"A series of kidnappings," he said. "Prominent worm people and certain influential members of various insect groups have been spirited away of late."

"I see what you mean by consistent," I said. "Very small rocks and very small citizens — worms and insects — have all been grabbed in the same basic period."

"Exactly," said McFarlin, nodding his furry gray head. "It all seems to tie in with
smallness.
"