Book 2 - Starfishers Read Free Page B

stomach’s
okay now. I’m hungry. And a game or two would get me back in
the groove. Tomorrow’s soon enough to take the
case.”
    The Marcos was The Broken Wings’ best hotel, and one of
the best in The Arm. And that despite the limits imposed by the
space and conservation regulations of a dome city.
    Dome cities are planet-bound space vessels. Which translates as
uncomfortable.
    The lobby of the Marcos had been decorator-engineered to provide
an illusion of openness. The wall facing the entrance was masked by
a curving hologramic panorama from another world.
    Mouse froze.
    “What’s the matter?”
    The smaller man stared straight ahead. He did not reply.
    “The Thunder Mountains seen from Edgeward City on
Blackworld,” Niven murmured, recognizing the scene.
    It was a stark view, of black mountains limned by the raging
star winds of a pre-nova sun. Blackworld was one of the least
hospitable and most dramatically beautiful of the outworlds.
    “Just surprised me, Doc.” Mouse glanced around the
lobby. “It was the Cathedral Forest on Tregorgarth when we
checked in.”
    People stared. The two gave the impression of being invaders
instead of guests. Their appearance labeled them hardcases barely
able to get by on their wits. Men of that breed belonged in the
warehouse district, not at the watering hole of the genteel.
    The watery-eyed bellhop, who watched them stroll through the
hologram to the elevators, did not belong either. He limped when he
walked, but he was too solid, too macho, to be staff. His uniform
was a size too small. His stance was a centimeter too
assertive.
    “Something’s gone broomstick,” Mouse said. The
elevator doors closed with startling severity, as though issuing a
declaration of war.
    Meticulous preliminary research characterized a Beckhart
operation. They had seen holos of, and reports on, all regular
hotel staff.
    “I saw him. What do we do?”
    “Cut out a floor short.”
    Why not just get the hell out? Niven wondered.
    “Well take the stairs. We’ll catch them from
behind.”
    “You’re taking a lot for granted.”
    “Anything to save a kick in the teeth.”
    Their floor was the fifth. The penthouse level. It contained
four suites. Only theirs was occupied.
    “The empty car will tip them,” Niven remarked after
Mouse had punched Four.
    “Yeah. You’re right.”
    “So?”
    “Tell you what. Let’s slide down and see if we can
snatch the gimp. Shoot him with Nobullshit and see what he’s
got to say.”
    That was pure Mouse thinking, Niven reflected. Running was an
alien concept.
    They were both in Old Earther role. Holonet stereotype Old
Earther role. But they had not received a full Psych-brief. Their
speech patterns tended to meander between that appropriate to the
role and that of Academy graduates. Their mission-prep had included
only a limited Psych-brief. They remembered who they were. They had
to think to maintain consistent images.
    “We’re getting sloppy,” Niven observed.
“Let’s tighten up.”
    The elevator stopped on Three. They exchanged glances.
    “Better stand back, Doc.”
    Mouse’s eyes and face blanked. A subtle air of crouch, of
tenseness enveloped him. He seemed to have gone to another
world.
    He had entered “assassin’s mind.” Which meant
that he had become a biochemical killing robot.
    Mouse was a physical combat specialist.
    A dowdy, blubbery woman with two poodles and a make-believe
fortune in cultured firestones waddled aboard. “Five,
please.” And, before Niven caught the wrong note,
“You’re new. Offworlders?”
    Niven responded with an affirmative grunt. He had to think of
some way to distract the woman while Mouse relaxed.
    “How marvelous. Let me guess. One of the Inner
Worlds?”
    Niven grunted again. He stared at the door, hoping rudeness
would be distraction enough. He took Mouse’s arm gently as
the door opened on Four.
    “Stay where you are!”
    A tiny needlegun peeped from a fat hand. The woman sloughed the
dowager