Into the Slave Nebula Read Free

spasm.
    “Service!” Horn yelled, throwing back his head. The call vanished into the length of the corridor. Then he bent to haul the concealing cases clear. Empty, they were quite light, but he was unused to lifting even light objects—that was a job for robots. He was sweating before he had swept aside half a dozen of them. Only then did he look down at what he had uncovered … and came close to vomiting.
    In the shadow, the android’s blue skin looked grey, like a sick human being’s. His features, of course, were altogether human. Had been, rather. Someone had beaten him savagely about the head until his eyes burst, his nose was mashed flat on his left cheekbone, and his teeth were broken from their sockets. It was the eyes that were the most revolting.
    Horn had never felt so helpless in his life. Half of him insisted that he go away, quickly, get to the elevator and so out to the street to join the carnival. The other half of him ached to do something to relieve the pain the mutilated android must be suffering. One ought not to leave even a dog or cat in such dreadful agony, let alone a creature which could stand up and talk to you, whatever the color of its skin. But he did not know how to begin—or whether it was worth beginning.
    He was staring sickly around when a voice hailed him from behind.
    “Say, friend! Was it you called the elevator before I did?”
    He turned his head. A pudgy man of middle age in aparti-colored jester’s suit was hailing him from the door of the elevator car. It must have arrived a moment previously.
    “Yes! Yes—but … look, come here, will you?”
    The pudgy man chuckled. He had the indefinable air of a person of great wealth—though if he was spending carnival here on this floor of this hotel, that went without saying.
    “
Oh
-oh! At it already, are you? What’s behind that stack of baggage—a booby-trap of some sort?” He shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll buy it. It’s carnival time, after all.”
    He trotted from the elevator and came to peer over Horn’s shoulder. From the sudden catch in his breathing Horn knew he had canceled his assumption about booby-traps.
    “Hey!” the pudgy man said in a low voice. “That’s messy, isn’t it? Wonder why the garbage robots haven’t cleared it up.”
    “He was hidden under these cases,” Horn gestured. “It looks as though he was beaten unconscious, and only recovered enough to push the cases away and call for help just as I came by.”
    The pudgy man drew back a couple of steps, unable to tear his gaze away from the hideous spectacle, as though at once repelled and fascinated by it. “I should—ah—I should leave it, young fellow,” he muttered. “It’ll be cleared away soon enough, no doubt.”
    “But why should anyone want to
do
such a thing?” Horn burst out, clenching and unclenching his fists in frustration as the android gave another sobbing moan.
    “You’re young,” said the pudgy man. “But you’re not that young, surely! Looks to
me”
—condensing into the phrase implications of superior maturity and worldliness—“as if some sadist got started on his carnival fun early. Must be rich, too; he’ll get a whopping bill for this from the management!” He shuddered. “I hope he confineshimself to androids, damn it—wouldn’t recommend my worst enemy to help whoever did this to get his kicks!”
    “But I can’t just leave him lying here!” Horn exploded.
    “What else can you do? If you have a dueling sword with you, I guess you can fetch it and put him out of his misery, seeing you’re so worried.
I’m
not the dueling type—don’t own a sword. Ah, don’t fret, young fellow!” He laid a comforting hand on Horn’s shoulder. “Service is pretty good in this hotel, you know. They’ll get rid of it soon.”
    A speaker by the elevator announced that there was another call, and unless a passenger entered within thirty seconds the car would go to another floor. The pudgy man muttered, “Excuse