Into the Slave Nebula Read Free Page B

repair. Latchbolt would need new eyes, and that is usually the break-even point.”
    “This happens all the time?” Horn was pale with horror.
    “I wouldn’t say that”—in a judicious tone. “But during carnival one generally reckons to lose two or three of the staff.”
    Horn stared at the expressionless blue face. His bowels were churning, and the straight lines of the corridor seemed to be twisting at the limits of his field of vision.After a short eternity he managed to say, “But do you know who did it?”
    “We may find out. We may not. There’s also insurance to cover this kind of risk.” The android sounded bored, but under the veneer of calm Horn thought he could detect bitterness, veiled as if by smoke. “And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I hear the cleaning robots approaching to dispose of Latchbolt’s remains.”
    Ironically he concluded, “No doubt you will be wishing to get out on the street and join in the fun.”
    Horn shook his head. “No—uh—no! With this fresh in my mind, how the hell do you think I could enjoy carnival? I guess I’ll get back to my room and give myself a chance to recover from the shock.”
    Very conscious of the andriod’s gaze following him, he started along the corridor. He had gone twenty paces before he realized he was heading in the wrong direction. Of course—he had turned a corner by the elevator.
    Furious at his own stupidity, embarrassed at being seen to make a mistake by this android whose coolness and composure made him feel like a blundering teenager again, he swung around intending to retrace his steps. As he turned, he caught a quick glimpse through the partly open door of the nearest suite. Beyond that door …
    Gasping, he strode forward and slammed the door aside. “Here!” he called. “Come here!”
    This body was not as ugly as the mutilated android, but it reinforced ugliness already in his mind, and his head swam.
    Unhurriedly, the android came after him. “What is it, sir?” he inquired.
    “Your chance to catch the
culprit
who beat your colleague to death!” Horn stepped across the threshold of the suite. It was identical with the one he himself had been assigned. Except for its occupant.
    “The chances are the same man did both, aren’t they?” he pressed on, having to lick lips suddenly gone hot and dry. “And even in carnival week I guess the lawforce has to take an interest in murder.”
    He was red-haired, this man, and his skin was a human shade. He lay on his back on the carpet, whose pile had spread out a little under his weight, like grass. His eyes were open and fixed unseeing on the ceiling. A large sharp wooden-handled knife protruded from his chest just over his heart, and—presumably because with his last dying strength he had tried to pull the blade free—his hands were loosely disposed around it, as though folded on his chest by a compassionate hospital attendant.

CHAPTER III
    A FTER MUCH DELAY lawforce headquarters furnished a team of investigators: four android technicians under the leadership of a human superintendent named Coolin whose every movement demanded silently why he should have to be on the job while everyone else was out having fun. He struck smokehale after smokehale as his subordinates probed the suite and the adjacent corridor, and chewed the mouthpiece of each into fragments before it had burned down.
    A few minutes before their arrival, the comatine shot administered to the dying android had depressed his metabolism to the point of no return. Apparently unconcerned at losing the chance to have the attacker named by the victim, Coolin confined his work to having solidos taken of the dead man and the battered android, and a few curt questions addressed to Horn and the android acting-manager—whose name, Horn had by now established, was Dordy. Earth had for long been so rich that her authorities could afford to be lenient with the citizens, and many of the ancient motives for crime had vanished,