Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 16 - The Planet Murderer

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"Your acquaintance proposes to come in here and kill me," Gelor said. "I have

no wish to fight him . . . you will help me build a fear-barrier to keep him

away?" Yahna matched his charming, crooked smile. "If I refuse?" "A woman of

your intelligence?" He laughed. "The decision is entirely in your

hands." Yahna shrugged. "I must refuse, in that case." "Uh. So be it, then."

Gelor was still smiling. "This way, if you please." Yahna let him see her

sigh, then pounced-and ran into Gelor's fist. Agony doubled her over, and

Gelor had the exodermic syringe out and had injected her before she hit the

floor. SPACEWAYS #1 OF ALIEN BONDAGE #2 CORUNDUM'S WOMAN #3 ESCAPE FROM

MACHO #4 SATANA ENSLAVED #5 MASTER OF MISFIT #6 PURRFECT PLUNDER #7

THE MANHUNTRESS #8 UNDER TWIN SUNS #9 IN QUEST OF QALARA #10 THE YOKE OF

SHEN #11 THE ICEWORLD CONNECTION #12 STAR SLAVER #13 JONUTA RISING! #14

ASSIGNMENT: HELLHOLE #15 STARSHIP SAPPHIRE #16 THE PLANET

by Ann Morris; used by permission of the author. SPACEWAYS #16:

THE PLANET MURDERER A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the

may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means,

without permission. For information address: Berkley Publishing Group, 200

Madison Avenue, New York, New York, 10016. ISBN: 0-425-06562-6 A BERKLEY

BOOK (r) TM 757,375 The name "BERKLEY" and the stylized "B" with design

are trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation. PRINTED IN THE

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA For DWIGHT V. SWAIN- 1 elbow, 2 knees, 6 balls and

considerable respect SCARLET HILLS Alas, fair ones, my time has come. I

must depart your lovely home- Seek the bounds of this galaxy To find what

lies beyond. (chorus) Scarlet hills and amber skies, Gentlebeings with loving

eyes; All these I leave to search for a dream That will cure the wand'rer in

me. You say it must be glamorous For those who travel out through space. You

know not the dark, endless night Nor the solitude we face. (reprise

chorus) I know not of my journey's end Nor the time nor toll it will have me

spend. But I must see what I've never seen And know what I've never

known. Scarlet hills and amber skies, Gentlebeings with loving eyes; All

these I leave to search for a dream That will cure the wand'rer in me. -Ann

Morris It's a wicked world. And when a clever man turns his brain to crime,

it's the worst of all. -S. Holmes, detective 1 Death, at midnight, goes

a-dancing, Tapping on a tomb with talon thin . -Henri Cazalis He came into the

Labyrinth and onto the monitor in Pearl's pleasure-bowl just after eight, just

as the Handsome Man had said he would. A freak. A strange broad-shouldered

near-giant over 190 sems tall. Though he was lean enough, he showed a heavy

musculature on that 1.9-plus meters of height; a musculature uncommon except

among slaves. He looked as if he'd actually worked. Manual labor, even. The

aspect that really distinguished him and made him unique (a freak, many would

say) was not his height or physique. It was his skin. His skin was purple,

incredibly, with a bizarre amethyst glow. Swallowing, Pearl watched him pause

before the lift. He tilted back his battered, helmet-like headgear, which was

visored both fore and aft and ridged on top. Pearl stared. His hair was

lavender! Just then he turned, and she was better able to see his face. A

clean-cut, strong-boned, friendly face with mirth-crinkles about the mouth and

at the corners of the eyes. Those eyes also showed a certain wariness, along

with alert intelligence and wit. So he's purple, she mused. He's also tall,

just beauti- 1 2 fully built, and good-lookin'! What could the Handsome Man

have against this fr-this unique stranger! But that was dead-end thinking of a

kind Pearl couldn't afford. Not if she was to escape this Musla-cursed planet

Croz, hemorrhoidal anus of the universe, and get %ack to comfort and sensual

excitement on Thebanis, in her beloved city of Raunch.* In that same moment

the Purple Man clapped his hardhat back on. (Pearl found it easier to think

about men in terms of labels rather than names. Most of her contacts with them

were brief and they often preferred anonymity anyhow.) He stepped onto the

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lift and off Pearl's monitor. She rose hastily and tossed aside her cloak.

She'd spent her last cred for it, after that swinish slaver Vettering had

dumped her here. After all, she could hardly go out on the streets clad only

in skirt and red strap-titser. It still irked her, the way that smirky little

Saipese clerk had fobbed her. "Rahman green," the snip had called it. That had

sounded delightfully exotic; classy. Besides, it was the only cloak Pearl had

the price of. Only later had she discovered that once again her taste-or lack

of it-had betrayed her. When a bust in The Oddford had referred to the cloak

in none-too-sly disparagement as "vomit green," the space-farers at the table

with her had collapsed in guffaws. Certainly it was not the thing to wear on a

pickup as vital to her as this one. The abbreviated strap-titser-a Thebanian

outer bra consisting mainly of straps-was a better ploy for sure. She wished

only that she had more jiggle-flesh to bulge between the straps. That damned

Akima Mars series had made a warhead-lover of practically every male along the

spaceways! This was hardly the time to be fretting about her figure. She had

to get down below, and fast. If some other hust should decide to dig her claws

into that strange stranger . . . ! That was a chilling thought that sent

Pearl's hands rushing up to check her tired old Terasaki coil and ginger-check

her dimple-scars. With a prayer that she hadn't * Where, in the Loophole Bar,

we first met Pearl, along with her friend Pacy as well as Shieda and

Vettering, in Spaceways #2, Corundum1's Woman. 3 chewed off her cerulean

lipstain in her nervousness, she stepped out of her pleasure-bowl and onto the

lift. It dropped. Her stomach quivered as she was whisked down to the lowest

level. Wobbling queasily, she stepped out into the Labyrinth's irradialited

dimness and tinkling Bergal sound. Having solid floor under her didn't help

her nausea much, here. That was the trouble with the Labyrinth. The reason it

had deteriorated from an outlander's dream of a plush luxury entertainment

center to a shabby, sleazy bar in Croz's depths. The techs said the issue was

something called synesthesia, an effect that somehow translated vital stims

into sounds and vice versa. In the process it also made too many people's

stomachs churn in what amounted to seasickness. It was not an effect to

encourage drinking. (The elaborate explanations that it was due to subliminal

pressures induced at this depth by Croz's erratic rotational spin made no

difference whatever.) The Labyrinth had gone downhill in a hurry. In the

process it had acquired the nickname of Hust's Haven. Most of its income now

came from payoffs on the privacy/pleasure-bowls. They were suspended at

varying intervals about the entrance shaft, where synesthesia was no problem.

Holographic windows enabled a whore's mark to dial anything from nostalgic

scenes of his own planet to Akima Mars shows or perversircs of exotic

depravities. Pearl fought the effect. Nausea was a luxury she couldn't afford.

Not here; not now. Not when the Purple Man was her key to passage back to her

own Thebanis! Resting a hand against the nearest upright to steady herself,

she scanned the room. She spotted him after a moment: on the far side, over by

the bar. Adjusting her sagging blue-coiled Terasaki wig as she went-and

fighting down queasiness-she headed for that double-billed hardhat. She hardly

took note of the fact that business tonight was even slacker than usual. What

few customers there were lounged in subdued-or maybe sullen, or plain

ugly-silence, while the tinkling music seemed to fracture into shattered beads

of sound. 4 The Chank barkeep saw her coming, teeth clenched, weaving her way

among the tables. Conveniently he found some chore at the far end to keep him

busy. She gave him a small smile and was glad she'd made her peace (or piece,

she thought) with him, in a vacant bowl back when Vettering had abandoned her

here. Her path took her past an alcove that eddied tendrils of pungent smoke.

Ordinarily the acrid, nostril-tingling narcostick scent of redjoy sticks would

have been enough to warn her. Redhigh was a sweet-burning, mild-high

"cigaret"; redjoy was a dangerous lascivicant + aphrodizzy that affected

different people in different ways, some dangerous. But tonight her whole

attention was focused on the Purple Man. Running her tongue along her lips,

she tightened the muscles at the corners of her mouth in preparation for the

swift, sensuous smile of greeting that was every bust's stock in trade. One

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hand moved automatically below her navel to check the hipband of her

skirt. And out of the dimness of the alcove, a hand shot up to clutch her

wrist. A hoarse, redjoy-slurred voice followed. "Hey, Purl, gurl. We din't

redshift after all. Cap'm's hookin' on another pod of cargo. We got all night

t'celebrate!" She didn't need to see the man to know the voice: a spacefarer

named Karim, off the merchanter Idris out of Luhra. Two other crudos, real

animals, sat with him. Frantically Pearl sought to free her wrist. The cool

she had worked so hard to build dissipated like nobac smoke. "Let go, you-you

pig, you grossporker! You bought a cycle with me, not forever." Karim came up

out of his seat and the alcove like a pouncing grat. Still gripping her wrist,

he lashed out with his other hand. That slap might well have broken Pearl's

neck had it landed full-face, as the flainer intended. Instead, she managed to

twist just enough to escape the worst of it. At that it drove her to her knees

and left her head ringing. Dimly she thought, Pearl, you fool! To say a thing

like that to someone that redjoy makes mean . . . Another slap landed and her

brain seemed to split into two segments. The cells in one half screamed, My

face, 5 my face! No-o! What if he rips me, marks me? The other focused on a

booted, back-drawn foot: Oh mother, the monster's going to boot me, kill

me! Only then, out of nowhere, she glimpsed purple. Time stood still, or

paused. Her vision cleared enough for her to see that the Purple Man had

somehow joined the scene. Incredibly, he was smiling. A sardonically warm and

friendly smile. And he had Karim by one shoulder in a grasp the spacefarer

obviously found painful. Baring his teeth in a snarl that would have done

credit to one of those tiger-things from his home planet, Karim twisted free.

He launched an enviably heavy blow at the Purple Man's face. The Purple Man

kept right on smiling. Rather than feint or dance back, he simply ducked his

head forward in a sort of nod. Thus he took Karim's blow on the top of his

spined headgear. The thud of impact contained elements of crispness, as of the

snapping of fingerbones. Karim's high bellow of anguish quite overpowered the

tinkle of music. Now here came his fellow spacefarers, though, out of the

alcove. One whipped a knife from a chest-sheath that proclaimed him a Bleaker.

Pearl tried to scream a warning. In the tumult she could never be sure whether

she had made a sound. Not that it was needed. The Purple Man was definitely

not blind. Now standing erect and alert again, he wore an expression of

pleasure and . . . amusement? Deftly he swept off his battered hardhat.

Dropping to one knee as the dagger-man moved in, he slashed upward with the

helmet's rear visor. Apparently the neckguard was razor-edged. It caught the

knife-hand where wrist and palm-heel joined. Blood spurted. The knife dropped.

Gaping stupidly, clutching at his sliced wrist in an effort to halt the

pulsing blood, the Bleaker' staggered backward. The third spacefarer, eager a

moment ago to join the fray, appeared to think better of it. Shooting the

Purple Man a venomous glare, he contented himself with herding his wounded

crewmates toward the lift. When he mouthed a curse over his shoulder, the

Purple Man whooped delighted challenge and made a false lunge. 6 The fellow

broke and ran. Still laughing, the Purple Man waved at the bartender-who

leaned on that bar, sighting along a stopper barrel-and returned to Pearl. His

face sobered with concern as he helped her up. She made it a point to sway

giggily and press a hand to her still-stinging cheek. "Oh sir-" "Call me

Jesti." "Jesti." Pearl rolled her eyes in what she hoped would come through as

sweet gratitude and adoration. "You saved my life, Captain Jesti!" And then,

sham-shyly, "I am Pearl." The man who called himself Jesti grinned wryly.

Pearl had a feeling that the twist of his lips bespoke total cynicism as to

her pretenses. He said, "I'm no spacefarer, uh, Pearl. I'm a kiracat

miner." "Sure does make you strong! And you risked your life!-I mean, those

three were spacemen, mean ones, on redjoy! They might have killed you. To take

that chance for me, a stranger ..." Jesti's grin broadened. "So I took a

chance, stranger. An Eilan miner likes a fight. That's part of what life's all

about. Spacemen! Huh-they never had a chance. Besides- it wasn't just for

you." Those words were like another slap in her face. She was staggered,

groping despite her efforts to preserve and project her chosen image. "Not ...

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for me?" "Firm." The smiling Purple Man slapped his headgear on at a jaunty

angle. "I was spoiling for a fight when I came in. You and those

tunnelworms-that just gave me an excuse." She couldn't believe such

straightforward honesty. She also couldn't tell him to go to Sheol, not this

man. "I-I don't understand." She didn't, either. What a thrilling,

straightforward . . . idiot! Her purple knight shrugged good-naturedly. "Try

harder. I come from Eilong. That's a planet you likely never heard of. Neither

has anyone else, unless he's in the tint business." "Eye-long?

Tint?" 7 "Tintinnabulate alloys. They're what make high-tech spacers go. The

Galaxy couldn't run without 'em." "Oh." That was the best Pearl could do. She

wished she'd let them spin the tech tapes for her, back when she was just an

unbaked little cake in the Quarter on Thebanis. But Raunch's bars had been

more fun any day, and the exotic spacefarers, and to hell with

edutapes. Besides, idle curiosity was a nothing thing just now. What counted

was the big shot: shuttlevator pass and ticket back to those bars! She

wondered if Pacy still sort of hung around the Loophole, waggling her warheads

at the more prosperous-looking spacefarers who came along. The two of them had

teamed with that fat but nice and extremely strong Shieda . . . and then

Vettering. That rotten sister-slicing bastard of a slaver! With luck, Pearl

would get her chance to pay him back some day. A blade between the ribs would

be nice. Or a shot of cyno in a drink. Or one of Shieda's exploding darts

stuck up his gassy rectum. Even as the thought flashed her, she knew she'd

never carry through on any of it. She was a velvet touch, a born victim. The

best she could hope for was that one way or another she'd leave this

robe-happy planet and make it back home. For years she'd had her hopes set on

the legendary Jonuta . . . The important thing now was to carry out her

contract on the Purple Man. This Eilan called Jesti. For that she already had

her answer, and for that she had only to put her plan into operation.

Gingerly, she touched her cheek. She winced at its sensitivity. "I'm sorry. I

want to stop the swelling, but I do want to hear more about Eilong. Uh . . .

I've got a privacy bowl up the shaft where I can clean up a little while we

talk. I'm still a little shaky-why don't you come up with me, have a

drink?" The violet-skinned man nodded. For the first time he appeared to

inspect her more closely. She tried to be unobtrusive about taking a deep

breath when he looked at her scarlet strap-titser and its contents. They rode

the lift up together. That made for some 8 cramping, of course-though not so

cramped, she noted with cynical satisfaction, that Jesti's arm had to press so

frequently against her warheads. Meanwhile, she learned more about Eilong and

tint alloys and kiraoun catalysts than she had any remote desire to know. At

least Jesti kept the tone light enough to be amusing. Only when he came to his

being on Croz did his manner change. Good humor and laugh-crinkles faded and

were replaced by a cold-eyed, tight-lipped anger too deeply rooted to be

concealed. The issue, he admitted bluntly, was Eilong's backwardness and

isolation. And its miners, the men who went below ground to gouge out the

vital kiraoun catalysts. It was a worse than dangerous job. Death and accident

rates ran appallingly high. Too, exposure to the catalysts' radiation did

things to the miners' metabolisms. It was responsible for their purple skin

and hair, as well as some other physical anomalies. Yet the Council of Elders

who ruled Eilong would hear no talk of anything so alien/progressive as

cybernetic mining. They preferred backwardness and isolation, believing that

with mechanization-remote TP cybermining by engineers and techs-would come

domination by giant CongCorp. That interplanetary mineral

extraction/transport/processing cartel (and presumed TMSMCo subsidiary) was

forever urging change, change. Why? Because change of any sort could not help

but threaten the Council's power. When Jesti and a handful of others had

pressed the matter, reprisal by the Elders had been swift. Some "malcontents"

had succumbed to "accidents." Others were remanded (sentenced!) to

"rehabilitative therapy." In a few cases there had even been outright

assassination, that nice word for murder. Jesti had received a tip of

impending personal disaster while he was at work. Risking his neck to ride an

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ore-belt to the surface, he'd slipped onto a shuttle-ship that carried him

offplanet, to Eilong's space station. There he had stowed away on a

freighter/merchanter slated for swift departure. 9 He was discovered a few

hours.out. The outraged captain had insisted on dropping him off here on

Croz. ''I've been stranded here ever since." The parallel with Pearl's

situation was such that sympathy welled up in her. Since that was an emotion

she didn't dare indulge in with this man, she stubbornly thrust it down. Of

all the men to feel something for. . . ! They entered her

privacy/pleasure-bowl. While not the most luxurious available, it included

supasilient suspension, a velvasponge floor, and oversize liqualay couch-bed.

Despite its sag, the upholstery's shabbiness, and the crack in the overhead

mirror, Jesti was visibly impressed. (A normal enough reaction, Pearl felt,

from a man who wore permanently stained work clothing and his battered miner's

hardhat.) She flicked the lift's switch to privacy position and twisted her

shoulders sensuously while she half turned her back to Jesti. She had nice

shoulders. "My, ah, bandeau's too tight . . . that slap down in the bar ...

something feels sprained. Ow-I can't reach the meld. Could you loosen it a

little for me?" Jesti looked almost ready to drool as he stepped close behind

her. That made Pearl feel good. He was so naive, compared with those

thrice-cursed, sisterslicing spacefarers! A man for me to control,

manipulate-stead of being manipulated by him\ Pearl was only eighteen, and

very aware of it. Rather clumsily, he twisted at the backstraps, discovered

the nevelcro closure, loosed it. He let go the tabs and his hands slid in

under her arms to cup her bared breasts. Tentatively at first, then more

firmly. She made it a point to giggle, even as she locked her hands over his

with a wriggling pretense of pulling away. Of course she let herself be drawn

back, twisting so that her rearward cheeks rubbed against his fly. She noted

with satisfaction that the area featured an already stiffening protrusion.

Under the stim of her buttsy friction, it grew even harder. Laughing, she

slipped away from him. "That feels so 10 nice-but I promised you a drink,

remember? Do you like orbisette?" "What's orbisette?" It was all she could do

to keep her eyes from widening. A man who didn't know what orbisette was! It

was hard to believe. Eilong must really be off the beaten track! "It's a

drink," she said, "that really puts you into orbit, you know? One plass of it

and you'll flash so hard your ears ring and you hit black center.'' Jesti

swallowed hard, gazing at her. "Every day and every way!" he said with much

enthusiasm. His eyes were glowing green and purple. Pearl let out her breath.

He'd committed himself. Now he had little choice but to drink the concoction.

Fine for her-she had chosen orbisette because it had a fruity stingo strong

enough to cover the hypnofacient the bartender had provided her. Crossing to

the cabinet, she touched the button. The panel slid back and the tray came

forward. Opening the pottle of orbisette, she filled the two plasses and

presented the leftward one to Jesti. It was a nice move, a neat move. Since

the hypno was colorless, it had been no trick at all for her to half-fill one

plass with it, earlier. That enabled her to pour the orbisette freely, while

he watched. He could see that she was drinking the same thing he was. Never

mind that the naive offworlder was wrong. He acted predictably. With his gaze

and his mind on his bare-breasted host, the Purple Man gulped down the

doctored orbisette. He set aside his plass and moved in on her. Pearl made

only token effort to evade him. The key point now was to stall long enough for

the stuff to take effect. His manhandling her warheads would hardly be

distasteful. He was a strong man and brave. He had done battle for her. She

liked that, liked it enough so that she shivered with excitement when he ran

his thumbs over her stiffening, tingling nipples. Too soon, one of his hands

was groping lower. That was a bit too fast; she couldn't take the chance. She

had to be 11 sure the hypnostuff was working. Once more she slipped away,

again laughing. "Oh, Jesti! And I wanted to hear about Eilong . . . first.

Must you be in such a hurry?'' Jesti followed as if he hadn't heard her. He

was staggering just a little, she noted with satisfaction. The hypno was

taking over. She used her own hands and mouth to ensure a long kiss-and

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squirmed away again. She darted past him to the couch-bed and jumped onto it.

Forcing a giggle. Blinking, swaying unsteadily, he turned to face her. Came at

her in a rush, lurching and stumbling . . . and fell across the bed in a heap,

unable to master the liqualay. Poor naive innocent! In a moment she was again

on the floor, heaving him over onto his back. "See, Jesti? You're just coming

on too fast. The orbisette's got you. If you move so fast now, it'll all be

over, Jesti. You won't even know what happened. And what about me-I'm a girl

who likes her stims. No,no, we need to slow you down, get that first rush

over, Jesti. After that . . . well, we've got all cycle, darling, and this is

a place where we can take our time." It was words for words' sake, for time's

sake. Anything to keep control until the hypno was locked in solid-and yet not

so tight that he hit black center and couldn't function. When his hands

stopped clutching and his eyes rolled up she almost panicked, fearful that

she'd let him sink too far. "Do you miss Eilong, Jesti?" she said quietly,

testing. His eyes opened. His face seemed to fall apart. The sound that came

from his throat held anguish on a level she had never seen before. "Eilong!"

he choked thickly. "Eilong. Why'd they do it? Why'd they make me run away? I

love Eilong. I want to live there, die there. ..." His voice rose. "Damn them!

Damn their sisterslicing souls, those Elders! What d'they care if miners die,

so long as they c'n run the place to suit themselves? Shiva rack me, I won't

let 'em do it! I'll get back and I'll see 'em dead and Eilong free, by black

Durga and Kali! I will, I will, I swear it!" 12 Pearl was shaken, yet knew

that this was The Time. She didn't dare hesitate a moment longer. Swiftly she

opened his frontmeld and tugged out his slicer . . . dropped her voice till it

was low and throaty, sex-stimmed, the way an aging hust had taught her. "Oh,

what a night we'll have, you purple passion-pot! First we'll zing you, then

we'll wring you, till your azle caves in and your eyeballs fall out ..." She

took him into her mouth and her cheeks caved in, in a frenzy that was her own

as much as this man who had genuinely saved her. Her tongue worked lovingly,

she sucked lovingly-and in seeming seconds, hypno or no, his body was jerking.

Straining, convulsing, erupting. The purple hands that so recently had sagged

loose now clutched her head in a spastic spasm. A final, explosive surge

filled her mouth and emptied, the Eilan. He fell back limp. Pearl rose

shakily, blinking. And obeyed her instructions: she emptied her mouth into the

pod the Handsome Man had given her. (Why was it so vital to the Handsome Man

that Jesti's semen be freely ejaculated? And why taken while he was alive and

at a peak of sex-stim, passion, rather than after death?) She shrugged.

Questions were of no concern to her, nor the answers. What mattered was that

she complete her task to her employer's satisfaction. Nothing more-and nothing

less. The sprawled Jesti was breathing deeply now, with his mouth agape. Eyes

rolled up. Center-blacked for sure, she thought, straining to roll him over.

She brushed away the thick lavender hair at the back of his neck and slit the

skin with the tiny, ray-sharp obsidian blade. Sliding in the slender tapper,

she watched the plunger's barrel fill with blood. Carefully, she emptied it

into the second container. Only then did she note the strange, slit-like

orifices on either side of his throat, pulsing open and shut ever so slightly

every time he breathed. After a moment she realized: gill-or their vestigial

remnants. What such things were doing on a Galactic she couldn't imagine.

Eilans were surely that-Galactics, humans-and it was only the stuff 13 he

mined, his being down there mining physically, that made him this strange

color. The Purple Man slept on. Pearl sighed. The wave of sympathy she had

felt earlier was back again. A strange sense of kinship with this violet-hued

man. It numbed her fingers, drew muscles tight across her stomach. We are so

much alike, he and I. Aliens both, stranded here on this offal-sphere of Croz!

Each of us aching for another happier world-our own worlds! Longing for a life

that logic says we've lost forever . . . Impulsively, she touched the cheek of

the man strangely called Jesti; bent to kiss him briefly. She wished she

didn't have to do what she had to do. But she did. There was no other way. Not

unless she was willing to surrender herself to life on Croz forever, and that

was too unbearable even to think of. She had no choice but to go on with it.

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The Purple Man would have to take his chances. You poor naive innocent . .

. At the ugly sound of the buzzer, Pearl darted to the lift-arch and checked

the eyeslot. And there he was in the lift-cab. The Handsome Man. He was even

better looking than she remembered. Breathtaking. Hastily she flicked the

switch to open position and stepped back so that he could enter. At the same

time she discovered that her palms were sweating. So much was at stake here,

so very much. Just my whole life. She hoped her voice didn't tremble. Just in

case, she said nothing. If the Handsome Man noticed her tension, he didn't

show it. His smile was warm-radiant, almost. White teeth gleamed against the

rich brown of his skin. "Ah, my lovely one! You have good news for me, of

course. Else why would you have called me?" He was moving as he spoke in that

fine baritone, almost feline in his grace, like a low-G dancer. At the same

time, those black eyes gave less attention to Pearl than to the bowl, her

cup-shaped room. Scanning past her to the unconscious Jesti, then on as if

searching for any hint of other presence. A sudden cynicism sparked in Pearl.

Partly, it was born 14 of the obvious flattery (insincerity!) the Handsome Man

ladled out . . . and partly of his preoccupation with everything but her.

Fearful? This, intermixed with the suspicion and edacious nervousness that had

gripped her since this strange episode had begun, since she had become his

accomplice ... all of it upset her more than she had believed possible.

(Besides . . . that poor naive innocent who had saved her face, which was her

life . . .) For the first time, Pearl viewed the Handsome Man critically. He's

just too handsome, too perfect. Like a cosmetician's vision of an ideal

unattainable in nature. His features were regular beyond imagining, the column

of his neck a sculptor's dream. His black ringlets, short and crisp, made a

mockery of the lank, greasy locks Shieda was so proud of. He-He interrupted

her reverie by crossing to the unconscious Jesti. Drawing a slender,

wicked-looking knife from somewhere within his jerkin, he peeled back one of

the Purple Man's eyelids, clearly checking reflex response. Pearl's heart

leaped. Only with difficulty did she restrain herself from crying out, rushing

forward. It was one thing to drug a jacko, take samples of his blood and

semen. It was quite another to play even a passive role in murder. Jesti lay

unmoving. Limp in unconsciousness. The Handsome Man released the eyelid and

put away the knife. He turned smiling to Pearl. "Well done, Pearl. You have

the containers?" Heartbeat ragged, still quivering with apprehension, she

nodded numbly. "Pos." She wished her palms wouldn't sweat so. "You-you brought

the shuttle pass, the ticket?" "Of course," that magnificent voice said, and

re-emphasized: "Firm." Pearl could hardly believe his smile, his words. When

he brought out the actual credslips and handed them to her, her relief was so

great that she was going to faint. He seemed to understand. His smile warmed

and broadened. "The . . . specimens, if you will, now," he prodded gently. It

broke her spell. "Yes, pos. . . ." 15 Half stumbling in her haste, she

scurried to the cabinet and retrieved his pods from where she'd hidden them

behind the drink containers. The Handsome Man tucked them away within his

jerkin without even examining them. Still smiling, he executed what amounted

to a pirouette of joy-or displaying his outfit to her as if he were a model.

It was well nigh a designer's ensemble: dark green shirt, matching bloused

green trousers, side-pleated; gloss-lustered krelhide boots, and the jerkin.

It was of a black underfabric embellished with richly swirling patterns in

brocade that interwove old gold and scarlet. The Handsome Man ended his

pirouette close to Pearl. "You are not only so beautiful, dear Pearl, but

marvel-ously competent as well!" He leaned closer. The lustrous black eyes

gleamed. His voice had become intimate, a caressing basso-baritone. It

occurred to her that her breasts were still bare. Squeezed tight in the coils

of her own tension, she had forgotten to replace her halter. Now the Handsome

Man's hands came up to cup those soft-skinned warheads. His eyes held

hers. "You do know you're beautiful, don't you, little one? More beautiful

than any woman has a right to be. What a loss for Croz, your departure!" She

who thought she was not susceptible felt her breathing quicken. "Not just

beautiful, though. Exciting. I felt it the moment I first saw you, with your

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gem-like name. I knew then that I had to have you. I could hardly wait to get

this whole silly business with him"-a nod in the comatose Jesti's

direction-"out of the way so I could claim you." Pearl's breath came even

faster. His hands on her warheads were like fire. Even while her brain warned,

Be careful! He's a man and all men are taps, marks, under the frontmeld,

another aspect of her was saying, Don't be a fool, Purly-gurl. He's already

got the containers. He's given you your tags back to Thebanis. The business is

all over. Anything he says now must be true. Even if it isn't, even if all he

wants is a night here with me, what does it 16 matter? Stash isn't that

important-not yours, hustf And O Musla, he is so handsome! She let herself

sway forward. His hands left her breasts to pull her tight against him. She

could feel the hardness of, him at chest and loins. Impulsively, she reached

down to touch him there-and his whole body seemed to tighten. One hand moved

to her shoulder. It pressed, downward. She stiffened a little, at that. Her

delight ebbed a fraction. It was not her stash he wanted, then, but her

mouth. Oh, what does it matter? If he wants that . . . well he's paid for it,

and more. To get back to Thebanis . . . back in Raunch . . . that's worth

anything I can give him. (And-it isn't as if I don't love it.) Down on her

knees, then. Opening his pants with a hust's skill. Easing her fingers onto

his slicer, drawing it forth. Her lips parted as she gazed at it. His hands

tightened on her shoulders, pushed her back. Not far. Not letting her up from

her knees, where I belong, belong . . . When he spoke, his voice had a raw,

hoarse sound. "Could I ... ask a favor, lovely Pearl?" She didn't answer. What

need was there? He would ask, whether she said pos or neg, and he would do.

That was the way of taps. Any hust knew that. Already he was fumbling within

his jerkin. What he brought forth made her stomach turn over. It was a

lech-noose, a Saipese lech-noose complete with arteriopads and cranial

spreader. Saiping's nasty gift to its fellow planets. The last traces of her

euphoria fled at sight of it. The Handsome Man wasn't just a tap! He was a

depraved, perverted fobber to boot. One out to get his flashes at a girl's

expense, no matter how much pain or disgust or nausea it cost her. Hooked

about her throat with spasm cords leading to her wrists and ankles, the thing

was designed to throw her into a paroxysm of near-strangulation in order to

intensify his orgastic spasms to the point of delirious frenzy. She sighed. At

least it would soon be over and she'd be free to space back to Raunch and a

life in which she'd not have to endure such indignity again. 17 She hoped. She

had just realized that she owed Jesti, and would help him. In quiescent

silence she let him adjust the cords. His hands were locked tight on the

control-thongs. Then, with swift efficiency, she moved in on his erection. The

noose tightened about her throat to match his pulsing passion; loosened;

snugged. . . . Speeding her, slowing her, intensifying her twistings and

writhings and convulsive suctions as she gasped for air. She sucked, too,

gliding her mouth, anxious to end this demeaning torment while she gave him

such a gift. Yet way over a minute passed before she felt the spurt of his

explosion, far back inside her face. As she had known it would, the noose

tightened. She made a last desperate gasp of suction, fighting frantically for

air and against nausea. Tearing at the noose-thongs, breaking her nails in her

frenzied efforts. She clawed at the Handsome Man's pants. He did not loosen

the thongs. He drew them tighter. His hands drew them tighter still. When her

eyes rolled up at him in mute entreaty, it dawned on Pearl in one last fading

moment that he was smiling. Smiling-! Pearl died. 2 Stone walls may not a

prison make, but they'll damn' sure keep you off the street till something

better comes along. -Trafalgar Cuw The body-wrap held Jesti tightly. Too

tightly for him to move. He couldn't so much as twist or pull himself

together, let alone sit up. Furthermore, he felt awful. His mouth was dry. His

head felt stuffed with peppercorns. Sick, giddy, and frustrated, he opened his

eyes. He saw nothing. The total blackness was beyond imagining. It was an

absolute blackness that not even a kiracat miner's eyes could penetrate. He

knew what that meant-it was an augmented black. One from which all vestiges of

light had been removed by inverse photophoric means. It was a phenomenon he

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had only heard about. He liked it better that way. Jesti gritted his teeth.

The only satisfaction he could dredge up was the fact that at least no one

could see him, gloat on his misery. Only then a voice spoke from the darkness:

"So. You awake." The voice held a heavy note of satisfaction. Jesti swore

under his breath. Somehow, incredibly, he could be seen after all. "Your name,

Eilan." Still battling giddiness, Jesti groped for words: "I can't 18 19 see

you." And then, ridiculously, "I don't talk to people I can't see." "Silence,

scum!" Jesti began to feel better. "You . . . want me to answer . . . and you

want me to be silent. Do I have it right?" Those words drew a choked,

incoherent snarl. "Eilan scum! Offal! Do you dare to mock me?" Jesti felt even

better. He felt almost ready to smile. "I command you! Answer!" Jesti spoke

meekly, with proper deference: "Yes, shithead?" Stunned silence. Then a

bellow: "Shit-head!?!" "Is that not the proper title, sire?" Jesti kept his

voice grovelingly humble. "On shipboard, they told me it was the term to use

here. In keeping, they said, with the high respect in which the Galaxy holds

all Crozers.'' "Respect!" The unseen speaker's rage was peaking. "I'll teach

you respect, you vlager! On your feet!" Jestikhan Churt was enjoying the

exchange more and more (whatever a "vlager" was; something peculiarly Crozite

and peculiarly unpleasant, he supposed). No kiracat miner could resist such a

situation. "I cannot rise, Lord Shithead. Someone has sausaged me in some sort

of second skin. It holds me too tight to move." "Guards! Lift him!" Feet

clumped through the all-engulfing darkness. Rough hands seized Jesti and

jerked him upright. The sudden movement was worse than upsetting. For a moment

he thought he was going either to vomit or pass out. The voice was under

control this time: "You are of Eilong. Your skin is purple. It shows no trace

of subcutane dye. Only Eilong yields people with purple skin." Jesti tried to

speak. His effort produced no more than a "Hmm." "Your name, Eilan." A new

wave of nausea rose in Jesti. He tried to fight it down-then, thinking better

of the situation, he allowed himself to retch. Violently. The vomit came up

and out in a great gush. It smelled and tasted awful. He sagged to

the 20 left, twisting within the wrap, thrusting his head forward. A jerk and

a lurch; an oath from the dark. That told Jesti that he'd hit his target-the

guard. He grinned in the darkness, twisted right ward, and heaved again. The

second guard's reaction was even more satisfying than the first's. In addition

to exploding curses, he rained blows on the prisoner, half a dozen of them.

Fortunately, the tightly-wrapped body envelope absorbed most of their impact.

Jesti felt a lot better. "Stop that, guard! Eilan, again: your

name." Something about the unseen speaker's voice told Jesti the time for

games was past. He said, "They call me Jesti." "What?" "Jesss-teee," he

repeated, elaborately. "Short for Jestikhan." "That is a prime name only, a

given name. What is the rest?" "Churt. I am Jestikhan Churt." "Not your

lettered name, you anal bug!" The voice rose angrily. "I want your identitag,

your number-whatever it is you stupid Eilans use to mark you from each

other.'' "Forgive me, sire." Only with an effort did Jesti strain the irony

from his words. "Eilong is a small, poor planet where we Eilans are few in

number and live mostly underground. We bear no identitags, no puterlabels.

Only the names our parents gave us. No numbers. Really. Honest. I

swear." Rather to his surprise, his interrogator accepted that without

umbrage. "As you will, Eilan. Name or no name, your guilt is clear." "My . . .

guilt?" It was Jesti's turn to go startled. "I don't know what you're talking

about." "Oh naturally, naturally." The smugness in the voice flowed thick as

syrup now. "Leave it to an Eilan to lay waste his brain with orbisette." It

seemed a good time to stand silent. Jesti stood silent. "To enlighten you,

however ..." A holoproj took form in the blackness off to Jesti's 21 right. He

blinked, again and again. Saw, tightly framed . . . Jestikhan Churt! Sprawled

on his back on a couch in what was clearly a pleasure-bowl. The hust from the

Labyrinth-what had she called herself?-lay on her belly between his legs with

her wrists and ankles lashed together in some sort of harness. Her head was

thrown back and to one side. An expression combining horror and agony

contorted her face-which was black with suffusing blood. The holoprojection

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cut even closer and changed angles. A lech-noose came into view, tight-drawn

about the hust's throat. Jesti's hands gripped the control thongs. The image

faded. "A pretty picture, hmm?" With an effort, Jesti hurled horror aside.

"What sort of game is this 'you're playing? I know nothing of that girl's

death. I deny guilt." ''There are questions," the voice said, as if he hadn't

spoken. "The hust had no papers. What was her name?" Jesti tried to shrug and

the body-wrap wouldn't allow it. "She said to call her Pearl. I did." Now he

was fighting to think-this was his life! "Why were you with her?" "Why does

any man go with a professional, a hust?" "And you slew her." "I deny it. I did

not kill that nice girl." "You do know that on Croz, possession of a

lech-noose is illegal?" "I have never owned, used, or even touched a

lech-noose. '' Remembering the holo, Jesti added,''Consciously.'' "Under

Croz's code, ignorance of the law is no excuse for crime." "Like beating up

innocent suspects? I have committed no crime." "Ah! To land on Croz without

proper documents is in itself a crime! You have no papers. That in itself is

enough to condemn you." The interrogator's heavy voice dropped a note. "How

did you come to Croz, Eilan?" "By merchanter." "Name and registry?" Jesti

grinned into the black. "I boarded on Eilong as a stowaway. The captain had me

locked in the airlock. He 22 told me nothing, and merely dumped me here. He

was hardly eager to have it known I had been his guest." A sound that might

have been a snort came out of the darkness. "I grow tired of your inept lies.

You shall not mock justice. For your kind we have special treatment." Light, a

cone of it, drove out darkness. Jestikhan squinted, hard. The light centered

on a glowering, thick-necked Crozer who hunched belligerently across a high

desk that rested atop a dais. His patterned brown robe was the sort Jesti had

come to associate with Crozite officialdom. In this case, at least, the cowl

was thrown back. So far as appearance went, the interrogator might have been a

Galactic from any of a number of planets, except for . . . yukh. Except for

the milkily opaque pineal eye in the middle of the burnt umber skin of the

forehead. A ring of turquoise had been painted around that eye. Jesti took

that to constitute a symbol of rank. He wondered whether the strange third eye

(characteristic of Crozers, apparently) might also hold the secret of the

man's (? Well, the Crozer's) ability to see in profoundly impenetrable

darkness. Maybe it functioned as some sort of sensor, like that possessed by

Eilong's kirouli worms. It was an interesting thought, one that might bear

further checking, later. Meanwhile . . . "I tire of your lies," the Crozite

repeated. One six-fingered hand lifted in a gesture of command, the

forefinger's extra joint flicking rapidly back and forth. "Guards!" The two

attendants gripped Jesti, dragged him forward. Now that there was light, he

saw the red rings about their pineal eyes. Both wore brown robes similar to

that of the man on the dais. That made them policers, their befuddled captive

thought, as the official gestured from his high desk. "Bring the

psychist!" One of the guards released Jesti's arm to disappear into the

surrounding darkness. He was back in seconds, accompanied by a new figure who

appeared in the cone of light as the guard did. She paced forward. She was the

most stunningly exotic woman Jestikhan Ghurt had ever seen. Lithe, slender,

she stood close to his 23 own height. Maybe taller, this woman. Taller than

Crozers, even. A great mass of golden hair rode her head like a spun crown, in

marked contrast to the rich olive of her skin. In contrast too was her

refulgent gold gown. It gleamed and shimmered in satiny beauty. The garment

was wildly out of place in such a setting. Floor-length on the left, it made a

soft whisking sound as she walked, almost sibilant. The trailing edge was

chain-hooked to a gold bracelet on her left wrist, so that lifting her hand

also brought up her hem. On the right, the fabric was slashed diagonally, from

the draped left edge to a chain-link gold belt. The gown covered her left

shoulder, but swooped diagonally down to the same point at which belt met

slashed skirt. That left her right breast bare save for a large glowing

peridot gemstone; a nipple cup that matched the great ring on her left hand's

middle finger. It was a costume to catch any eye-not that its wearer needed

such help. Her eyes, especially, held Jesti. It was as if they were sending

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"Youracquaintanceproposestocomeinhereandkillme,"Gelorsaid."Ihavenowishtofighthim...youwillhelpmebuildafear-barriertokeephimaway?"Yahnamatchedhischarming,crookedsmile."IfIrefuse?""Awomanofyourintelligence?"Helaughed."Thedecisionisentirelyinyourhands."Yahnashrugged."Imustrefuse,inthatcase.""Uh.Sobeit,...

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