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Title: The agile Algolian

Author: Kendell Foster Crossen

Illustrator: Virgil Finlay

Release date: March 5, 2023 [eBook #70212]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Standard Magazines, Inc, 1954

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGILE ALGOLIAN ***

The Agile Algolian

a novel by

KENDELL FOSTER CROSSEN

Illustration by VIRGIL FINLAY

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Thrilling Wonder Stories Winter 1954.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Author's Note

There have been so many letters[1] asking how Manning Draco got started and how he developed a secondary mind shield (the only one among the Terrans) that I have decided to take you back in time—back to the year 3470, when Manning Draco was unaware that he had any abilities other than the talents of an ordinary insurance investigator and a first-class ogler of shapely girls.—K.F.C.

[1] Well, there was one letter.

I

Manning Draco had been out of the hospital for the better part of two weeks, but the Medical Monopoly had kept him hanging around on Rigil Kentaurus while the pharmaceutical pundits scratched their heads and muttered the mystical phrases of their profession. If it hadn't been for a generous supply of nurses, who were interested in a quite different branch of research, Manning might well have fused his jets in frustration.

Six months had passed since the accident. That night he had just finished the case of the Dented Denebian and was relaxing in the Twilight Zone of Sin City on Hamal. He had made the mistake of getting into an argument with a six-armed Kochabian and had been thoroughly and scientifically trounced. He had come to a week later in the hospital. Diagnosis: various severe bruises, six broken ribs, one broken leg, and concussion.

He had, however, healed nicely and a month before his release had progressed to the point where he could chase, and catch, the fleetest nurses. His release was only a formality until he came to the cybernetic mind-reading required of all head-injury patients before they were permitted to return to work. He had gone through many a cybernetic M-R, but this time something went wrong. The machine blew a fuse. When it was repaired, they tried again. The reading revealed that there was only one thought in Manning Draco's head, a performance considerably below par for the average moron. And that one thought caused the doctors—all elderly gentlemen who had long ago given up fleshly pursuits—to blush.

The findings of the machine, which had not been wrong in five centuries, might have given pause to a more serious-minded young man, but Manning took it in his stride. He was quite willing to admit that he had only one thought at the moment and wanted no more. He was even annoyed at the doctors who kept pulling him away from that one thought in order to try to find out why he was so single-minded.

They had about decided that in some freak way a large slice of skull bone had been driven into his brain, shielding a large portion of it, when the whole matter was taken out of their hands. Otherwise they might have gone on carving up Manning until there was nothing left to withstand their skill.

The interference came, as it always does in such cases, from above. Prior to his accident, Manning Draco had been chief investigator for the Greater Solarian Insurance Company, Monopolated, presided over by J. Barnaby Cruikshank. In absence of any proof that the accident had occurred on his own time, he had remained on salary while in the hospital. All of this had been well enough while the regular investigators had been able to handle the cases that came up. But then there came a case, cutting painfully into J. Barnaby's bank account, which he knew was beyond their abilities. The President of Greater Solarian set up a shout for his chief investigator.

It was practically impossible to ignore adverse reports from a cybernetic M-R, but to J. Barnaby Cruikshank the impossible was simply an impudent affront. He put in a visicall to the President of the Federation and quickly reduced that gentleman to the psychological state of an office boy. When he finally broke the connection, the President merely passed along the same treatment to his Secretary of Internal Affairs. And so the hot, angry words of J. Barnaby were passed down along the line until finally an underling screamed the insults at the chief doctor of the Rigil Kentaurus Hospital.

Ten minutes later Manning Draco was discharged and the offending cybernetic report had vanished from the records.

Within a matter of two hours, Manning strode cheerfully into the main offices of Greater Solarian in Nyork. He grinned down at the receptionist, but her answering expression was one of relief rather than the welcome he'd expected.

"Go on in," she said wearily. "He's been calling me every five minutes to ask if you've arrived."

"Tell him to simmer down," Manning said and passed on through the offices.

Outside the private office of the president, he hesitated until the door-scanner recognized him and the door swung open. He stepped inside and faced his employer.

At a mere thirty-eight, J. Barnaby Cruikshank had been the president and chief stockholder of a company that held a galactic-wide monopoly. It was true that he had inherited the company, but until his accession it had been a small outfit, insuring only humans. Under J. Barnaby, Greater Solarian had started issuing policies to cover every form of life in the galaxy. It had prospered and J. Barnaby was one of the richest and most influential men in the Federation.

J. Barnaby was a man of great urbanity, but it had already worn thin at the edges. His hair was mussed and his plastic sport coat ("Guaranteed not to wrinkle") was wrinkled.

"It's about time," he growled at the sight of his employee. "What did you do—walk back?"

Manning grinned as he dropped into a chair. "Some welcome," he said.

"Welcome!" said J. Barnaby, looking at the ceiling for moral support. "You've just had a six months vacation at my expense in the finest hospital."

"With hot and cold running nurses," added Manning. "But don't forget I was grievously wounded while conducting certain investigations." He carefully neglected to make it clear that the inquiry had been into the morals of a Ganymedean dancing girl rather than an insurance problem.

"I have my suspicions about that," J. Barnaby said darkly. With what must have been an inner struggle, he smoothed the anger from his face and replaced it with what he fondly imagined was a friendly smile. "Of course, we're glad to have you back, Manning, my boy. The thoughts of all of us here at Greater Solarian were with you during your months of pain and—"

"Don't overdo it," Manning said. "A little bit of your sympathy goes a long way. Now, what's the crisis?"

"Well, there is a small matter," J. Barnaby admitted. He paused, as if in doubt. "You sure you feel up to a little work?"

"If I didn't, you'd prop me up on crutches and send me out anyway. What is it?"

Cruikshank dropped his interest in Manning's health with alacrity.

"Well," he said, "during the past year we've been taking quite a beating on joint life policies. There have been seventy-two thousand, one hundred and ten cases of husbands and wives taking out joint policies and then of one of the couple dying within a matter of days."

"The dangers of matrimony," Manning said. "All of the policies sold by the same man?"

"The same two. Sam Warren and Jaba Woo, an Algolian. They've been working together for some time and both have excellent records. I'd hate to think they were involved."

"Any other suspects?"

"A couple," J. Barnaby said. "All of the cases have taken place within a radius of two lightyears of Canopus. Warren and Woo have their headquarters on Canopus One. Unfortunately, the similarity between all these cases did not come to our attention until about a month ago. We've done some preliminary checking. In each case, the official records show that the deceased husband or wife died from natural or accidental causes, but in no case was there an autopsy. And in each case, there was a quick funeral, all handled by the same undertaker."

Manning looked his question.

"A Canopusian outfit," said J. Barnaby, "called the Happy Asteroid Mortuary. It's run by someone named Encycla Grave. He's probably an Algolian."

"Asteroid mortuary?"

"Yeah," J. Barnaby grunted. "He specializes in fancy funerals. Each one of the insured was buried on a small asteroid which was then power-driven into space. That's why we haven't been able to get an autopsy on a single one of them. Incidentally, in each case, the cost of the funeral was exactly one-half the amount of the insurance policy."

"Clever," Manning said. "Is that all you've got on him?"

"Not quite. We've had one bit of luck. Last week the patrol was over near Betelgeuse searching for smugglers. They stopped to investigate a stray asteroid. It was one of the asteroid-crypts. When they saw what was on it, they threw a magnetic-plate on it and brought it in. I got the report yesterday. A Mrs. Henry Orbson, Terran, was buried on it. She died about six months ago while she and her husband were spending their vacation on Canopus. A week before she died, she and her husband had taken out joint policies. Her husband collected two hundred thousand credits from us. The death certificate had stated that Mrs. Orbson died from a heart attack. Well, the heart attack was brought on by a sharp knife being drawn across her throat."

"Who signed the death certificate?"

"Encycla Grave," J. Barnaby said sourly. "He belongs to the Medical Monopoly as well as being a mortician."

"A nice racket," Manning said. "How come you haven't had him arrested?"

"There's more to it than this," said J. Barnaby. "As I said, the funerals are quick. The lady was buried in the dress she was wearing and in the pocket of it there was a letter—addressed to her husband. Here it is." He fished among the papers on his desk and came up with a letter. He handed it to Manning.

THE MARITAL RELATIONS BUREAU

27 Circle Square (Upper)

City of Sentiment

Canopus (I)

March 42, 3470

(Solarian date)

Mr. Henry Orbson,

Galactic Rest Hotel,

City of Sentiment,

Dear Sir:

At first guess, you might say that you have no marital problems. But are you happy? Or have you reached a time when the vows that bind you "until death do us part" are beginning to chafe? Does your wife nag and scold? Has she lost her beauty? Is there a younger woman in your future?

These are all questions which the man of intelligence must ask himself from time to time. If you are able to answer most of them in the negative, then you are a fortunate man and I congratulate you. If the answers are yes, I can do better than congratulate you. I can set you free.

There is no charge for a consultation. (In fact, you may make a profit out of the matter.) I guarantee satisfaction and there is no charge until after I have succeeded in eliminating the obstacle to your happiness. Even then the fee is modest.

Why not see me at your convenience?

Sincerely yours,

Nottyl Nadyl

"Who is this Nadyl?" Manning asked when he'd finished reading the letter.

"Another Algolian[2], I think," J. Barnaby said. "You see how the letter implies that Nadyl will get rid of the guy's wife, without being evidence against him? There's no proof that Orbson went to see Nadyl, but two days after the date of this letter he bought the insurance policies. And one week later his wife died. And she was murdered."

[2] At that time, very little was known about Algolians. There were several of them doing business throughout the galaxy, but under the treaty of 3106 Terrans were forbidden to visit Algol for any purpose. All the Algolians who had been seen were completely different from one another in appearance and it was assumed that there were dozens, if not hundreds, of different species of Algol, all of them intelligent. Consequently, it was difficult to be sure who was an Algolian unless you were able to see his identity papers.

"I gather that you think there's an Algolian in the moneypile," Manning said drily. "Or, rather, three of them. An Algolian undertaker, an Algolian heart-throb character, an Algolian insurance salesman, and Sam Warren. Is that all of them?"

"I don't think so. All the asteroid-crypts were bought from the same place. There's a Rigelian named Dzanku Dzanku—calls himself Dizzy Dzanku, the Honest Rigelian—who's a second-hand asteroid dealer. He bought up several hundred used asteroids from the Mining Monopoly and has them in a close-formation orbit around Canopus, about five hundred miles from the surface. He does a fair vacation rental business, but he also supplies them to this Nadyl character."

"You got anything tying him in with the scheme?" Manning asked.

"No," J. Barnaby grunted. "But if he's an honest Rigelian, then he's the only one in the universe. You know that Rigel has a criminal culture, so you can bet if there's something crooked going on, this Dizzy Dzanku's in on it."

"Okay," Manning said. He stood up. "I'll go take a look."

"Not so fast," J. Barnaby said. "I've got the whole thing planned out. The way it is we could have this Henry Orbson and the undertaker arrested and make it stick. But that wouldn't break up the whole ring. We're going to set a trap for them."

Manning scowled. "We?" he asked with heavy irony. "Whenever you start talking about what we are going to do, I get a cold wind on the back of my neck."

"Nonsense, my boy," J. Barnaby said briskly. "I have every confidence in you. Now, here's the setup. Instead of going there as Manning Draco, insurance investigator, you'll—what is your middle name again?"

"Melvin," Manning said reluctantly.

"Splendid. You're going to Canopus as Melvin Draco, a tired young business man on vacation. Rent one of the asteroids so you'll be away from it all. I've arranged for someone to go along and pose as your wife and all you have to do is wait until—"

"Wait a minute," Manning said. "If your idea is to send some old hag along with me and then expect me to wait around while she hires some guy to cut my throat, you can get yourself another boy."

The visiscreen industry lost a great actor when J. Barnaby Cruikshank became a magnate. He could whip up a few tears and a reproachful expression at the drop on an accusation. "You wrong me, my dear boy," he said sadly. "I wouldn't think of putting your life in jeopardy. As I was about to say, it will appear that your wife is a nag and that you are heartily sick of her. Then all you do is wait to be contacted—probably by this marital relations individual—and make a deal for him to kill your wife after you've taken out insurance on her life. How does that sound?"

"Two objections. First, I still don't like the idea of being cooped up with some old crow you picked out. Second—what if something slips up and she is killed?"

"We will take up the old crow aspect in a moment," said J. Barnaby. "As to the second objection, she is an Aliothan. They are rather difficult to kill by ordinary methods. I trust that the matter will be concluded before the assassin discovers she is from Alioth."

Manning tried to conjure up a picture of an Aliothan, but he couldn't remember ever having seen one. "What do Aliothans look like?" he asked suspiciously.

"Completely humanoid in appearance," J. Barnaby said cheerfully. "Also in most of their habits, I might add. You are ready to leave at once?"

"I suppose so," Manning said reluctantly.

"Good." J. Barnaby leaned forward and touched a key on the interoffice plate of his visiphone. "You may now send in Miss Sera," he said.

Manning Draco waited with some trepidation. He was well aware of J. Barnaby's attitude concerning his interest in comely wenches and he could hardly imagine that this was anything but some female who would give him nightmares for months to come. In a way, he was right.

The door to the office opened.

"Manning," J. Barnaby said, "this is Fanya Sera—to be known hereafter as Mrs. Melvin Draco. Miss Sera, this is Manning Draco."

"How do you do," Fanya said demurely.

For several seconds, Manning could only gape. What stood in the doorway was nothing short of a vision. She looked exactly like a Terran woman—but one such as he had seldom seen. She was tall, only two or three inches shorter than he; and every inch of her was a dream in curving flesh. So far as he could see—and her dress did little to limit sight—everything that should have been there was there to the fullest degree and nothing was missing. Her hair was long and golden blonde. Her eyes were gray-blue, her lips a soft red, her features flawless.

"Hello," Manning finally managed weakly.

"I believe," J. Barnaby said with malice, "we were having some discussion about old crow...."

"That," Manning said quickly, "was merely the crow I intended eating ... does Miss Sera know about our assignment?"

"She does."

"Far be it from me to discourage any part of this," Manning said, "but do you think anyone is going to look at her and believe that I want to get rid of her?"

"I think they will," J. Barnaby said. "Miss Sera, you might show Mr. Draco one of your lesser talents."

The girl nodded and there was a glint of humor in her eyes. "Melvin Draco," she said, "if you think you're going to drag me all the way out here and then just keep me cooped up on a silly old asteroid—well, I'm not going to stand for it!" Her voice had suddenly taken on a whine so jarring that Manning found himself wishing she was dead.

"Turn it off," he said shuddering. "And promise me you'll use it only when necessary."

"I promise," she said. Her voice was soft and seductive again and she was smiling invitingly.

"You're right, J. Barnaby," Manning said. "When do we leave?"

"Right now. I've left orders for the cashier to give you enough money to cover expenses. Good luck, my boy."

"How can I miss?" Manning muttered, giving the blonde a meaningful glance as he held the door open for her.

II

It was less than an hour later when Manning Draco's ship, the Alpha Actuary, blasted off from the main Nyork spaceport. As soon as he was clear of Terra's atmosphere, he fed the position of Canopus I into the automatic pilot and gave up the controls. It was 650 lightyears to Canopus—just far enough to be a pretty dull trip ordinarily, but Manning didn't expect it to be this time.

It could never be said that he was one to waste valuable time. He had barely put the ship on automatic control when he was showing the blonde the special features on the Alpha Actuary. She seemed to be properly impressed by the miniature computer, the audio-reader, the demagnetizer, the geoscope, the impulse-translator, and the robosmith. Manning used the latter to make her a pair of gold earrings.

"Thank you, Manning," she said. She gave him a half-veiled glance that seemed all promise. "I never knew Terrans were so nice."

"This is only the beginning, baby," Manning said. "Since we're soon going to start fooling the natives into thinking we're man and wife, don't you think we might get in a little practice first? You could start by showing your gratitude in a more tangible form."

She laughed, a soft musical sound that made Manning's skin feel prickly. It hardly sounded as if he were being repulsed, so he stepped toward her.

He reached out with his arms and at the same time bent to meet her lips. It seemed to him that she swayed to meet him. Then, just before he touched her, something struck him; it jarred his whole body, tore at his nerves until they were ragged. He staggered away and the jarring stopped. His teeth still hurt, however, until he realized that his jaws were clenched.

"What in space was that?" he demanded.

The blonde smiled, but there was something close to disappointment in her eyes. It encouraged Manning to try again.

Once again he got within an inch of her, so close that he could feel the warmth from her skin and his senses were drunk with her perfume, before the giant invisible hand picked him up and shook him until his teeth rattled. It took all of his strength to pull away, but he succeeded just before he was about to black out. His head ached as he backed away.

"What—what happened?" he asked as soon as he could.

This time the blonde laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, and she seemed to be despite the laughter, "but you'll have to ask Mr. Cruikshank."

"J. Barnaby? What's he got to do with it?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell you." She hesitated, then went on: "Manning, I'm truly sorry—but it won't last forever."

For once in his life, Manning Draco was not to be consoled by the promise in a woman's eyes and voice. He retreated to the other end of the ship and sulked.

Later, when Fanya Sera went into the small stateroom to sleep, an angry Manning Draco put in a visicall to Terra. He was even oblivious of the fact that it was probably well after J. Barnaby's bed time. A sleepy butler tried to convince him that the hour was untimely, but failed. A few minutes later J. Barnaby, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, appeared on the screen.

"What are you up to?" Manning demanded.

If there had been any doubt that J. Barnaby Cruikshank was up to something, his appearance would have removed it. Normally, any interference with the slumber of the president of Greater Solarian would have resulted in an explosion of temper like a major planet-quake. Instead, however, he was staring out of the screen with the benign expression of an indulgent uncle.

"My dear boy," he said sweetly, "what are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Manning snapped. "This Fanya Sera. What did you do to her?"

"I am a happily married man," J. Barnaby said solemnly. "It never occurred to me to do anything to her."

"You know what I'm talking about. Every time I get within an inch of her, something starts shaking my teeth loose."

"Oh, that." J. Barnaby managed the impossible feat of a chuckle that was both fatherly and sinister. "As a matter of fact, she is equipped with a little device I insisted upon. If you were the father of a growing girl, as I am, you'd probably be more familiar with it. Known as the Parents' Comforter, it uses ultrasonic sound to fend off predatory males. I suppose you might call it an ultrasonic chastity belt. But you'll be perfectly safe as long as you keep your passes visual." The chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh.

"Very funny," snarled the man. "Why?"

"You might say I had three reasons, my boy. I wanted to be sure that you kept your mind on the business at hand, something I knew would be difficult once you caught sight of Miss Sera. Then you are supposed to give the picture of a man who wants to get rid of his wife and the Canopusians are famous for the habit of peeking through keyholes."

"And the third reason?" Manning prompted.

"Believe me, my boy, I also did it for your own protection," J. Barnaby said in his most fatherly manner. "I have an abiding concern for your welfare."

Manning told J. Barnaby what he could do with his paternal concern. Although humanity had progressed far by the 35th Century, there had been very little improvement in such suggestions and his words were almost the same as might have been spoken two thousand years earlier. The censor on Procyon covered her ears tightly. If one of the men hadn't been an important figure in the Federation, she would have jammed the call. As it was, she merely tried not to listen and hoped that no one else was tapping that frequency.

J. Barnaby laughed as he broke the connection. The ship's screen faded to a dull gray, leaving Manning more frustrated than before.

Sitting in the comfortable pilot-chair, Manning finally caught a few hours sleep, but it was far from restful and he awakened in pretty much the same mood.

When Fanya Sera rejoined him, he tried to maintain a dignified silence. But it was almost impossible to sulk in the presence of so much beauty. Finally, he got the idea of trying to talk her into removing the ultrasonic device—whatever it was. It was a lost cause. She was flattered by his eagerness, but that was all.

"I promised Mr. Cruikshank I wouldn't remove it until we were finished with the case," she said. She gave him a lingering glance. "I didn't promise anything about what would happen when you've cleaned it up."

"Is that the best we can do?" Manning asked.

She smiled. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked. "Afraid it'll take you a long time to solve this?"

He gave her a hard look. "Baby," he said, "you're going to see speed that will make your head spin."

Within an hour, they were entering the atmosphere of Canopus I. With the ship back on manual, Manning brought it down on instructions from the spacetower.

They stepped out of the ship to find it surrounded by Canopusians, eyes staring avidly and hearing-hairs quivering with eagerness.[3] Those nearest reached out with their tentacles and lightly touched the cloth of Manning's coat. There was something amusing about their boundless curiosity, although he also knew it could become tiresome. Terrans, visiting Canopus for the first time, could never get used to being followed by a crowd of Canopusians.

[3] The origin of Canopusians is unknown and they seem to be unrelated to any other life form in the galaxy. Their bodies and heads are all of one piece, looking somewhat like inverted gourds. A Canopusian has two short, stubby legs. His tentacles, two of them, are located about midway on his body. On the head-part, there is a tiny, bud-like mouth. He has two eyes, similar in shape to those of humans, and a third one which is on the end of a thin, three-inch eye-stalk. This eye-stalk is flexible and is primarily used for peering around corners and into rooms—to most Terrans it is known as their "keyhole peeper." On the top of his head, the Canopusian has two circular rows of stiff hair. The outer row consists of hearing-hairs and the inner ones are olfactory in nature. The Canopusian is about three feet tall and his smooth flesh is pale lemon in color.

"Melvin," said Fanya, "why are those horrible little creatures staring at us?" She was using the special voice again and Manning shuddered.

"I don't know, my dear," he said, trying to keep in character. "But I'll—" He stopped and gaped. At the sound of Fanya's voice, the Canopusians' hearing-hairs had all started agitating violently. Then they turned and scampered away across the spaceport. It was the first time Manning had ever known them to act in such a manner, but he didn't blame them.

After going through spaceport customs, Manning and Fanya got an air-cab and directed the driver to take them to the Terran Place Hotel. A few minutes later they were flying over Canopusia, capital of the planet and one of the largest cities in the galaxy.

Canopusia was one of the wonders of the modern universe. Tourists came from all over the Federation merely to see the city about which they had heard so much. It had been described by one visiscreen commentator as a monument to the mentality of the natives. Canopusians, as has been noted, were inquisitive and incurable gossips; further, they had no recognizable system of logic. This was well illustrated by their major city. Streets ran in every which-way, a single street sometimes crossing itself seven or eight times. The name of a street would often change in the middle of a block. Other races who had spent a lifetime there still couldn't find their way around the city.[4] As a result the largest single profession on the planet was that of guide.

[4] The Canopusians couldn't either, but they didn't care.

Almost the entire city had been built before other races had descended on Canopus and the buildings showed the same lack of concern. There were sky-scrapers running up seventy and eighty stories in which there were no elevators or in which floors were constructed in such haphazard split-level design that you couldn't find a particular floor without a guide. Many buildings, residential and professional, stood empty because the builders had neglected to include any sort of entrance. All of this had produced two schools of thought; one convinced that Canopusians were pretty stupid and the other contending that they just didn't give a damn.

Canopusia was a thriving city, but almost all industry and commerce was carried on by other races. Similarly, the guides were all foreigners, although limited to those races with phenomenal memories.

Arriving at the hotel, Manning registered and they were escorted to a suite by a Canopusian bellboy, accompanied by an official guide. He could hardly wait until they were inside, and the bellboy and guide were gone, for Fanya had never stopped yakking at him in that shrill voice from the time they had left the spaceport. The shrewish whine finally trailed off as the door closed, leaving them alone.

"How am I doing?" she asked in her normal voice.

It was such a relief that Manning, without thinking, swung a gentle slap at a rounded and attractive portion of her anatomy. It was a mistake for he in turn was slapped silly by ultrasonic waves.

He recovered, cursing J. Barnaby with heartfelt emotion. As he did so, he saw a Canopusian third eye retreating through the keyhole. He laughed in spite of himself.

"As much as I hate to admit it," he said "J. Barnaby did have a good idea. Canopusians being what they are, it won't be an hour before the entire city knows that Mrs. Draco wears some sort of contraption which klobbers her husband every time he tries to touch her and that Mrs. Draco also has a voice that sounds like an atomic saw trying to chew through asteroid ore, and never stops using it. That ought to bring the wife-killer on the run." He glanced at the blonde and couldn't see how anything so softly rounded could be practically indestructible. "Baby," he said, "are you sure that this isn't going to be dangerous for you?"

"Positive," she said. "But it's nice of you to worry." She blew him a kiss—which was about as satisfactory as such things always are. "What do we do now?"

"I shall admire you for a moment—from a distance," he added hastily. "It'll give time for the word to spread. Then I think I'll go see this second-hand asteroid dealer. Leaving you at home, I might add. There's going to be a limit to how much I can take of your public manners until this is over ... want me to call room service and have something to eat sent up?"

She shook her head. "I don't need anything. My metabolism is quite different from yours."

"Meaning you don't eat?"

"Not as often as you Terrans, at least," she said. "I may be hungry in a few days—it all depends...." Her voice trailed off without revealing on what it depended. But as he stared at the sensuous curves of her body, there was probably nothing which interested Manning less than her eating habits.

"That reminds me," he said. "Where have you been all my life? I've been around, but I don't think I ever saw an Aliothan before."

She had seated herself at the built-in vanity table and was combing her hair. It gleamed in the light like gold threads. "Probably not," she said. "Very few of us have ever been off our planet. This is my own first trip and it was only possible because Mr. Cruikshank arranged it."

"Why?"

She hesitated, then faced him with a funny little smile. "It's a kind of inequality of sexes," she said. "It's only the women of Alioth who are not allowed to leave the planet."

"All the men travel about in the galaxy?"

"Well—all the single men." She stood up and stretched seductively, her breasts straining against the wisp of silk. "But when an Aliothan man marries he never leaves his wife."

"That I can understand," Manning said fervently. "I can appreciate Aliothan men not wanting the competition they'd have if the rest of the universe knew about you. Have they always penned you in like that?"

She shrugged. "As long as I can remember we've been restricted to Alioth—except when special permission is granted in a case such as this."

"They can't do this to you," Manning said hotly. "Does the Federation know about this?"

"They know about it."

"I'll speak to J. Barnaby about it when we get back," Manning promised. He started to reach out to pat her on the shoulder, but quickly thought better of it. "He's a big man and he can do something if he wants to. I'll tell him he either sees that you're permitted to go where you want to, or I'll go back to Alioth with you."

"I'd like that," she said softly.

Her voice was so provocative that Manning was about to renew his plea for the removal of the ultrasonic device when there was a knock on the door. Muttering his opinion of visitors in general, he went to see who it was.

The figure who stood in front of the door was enough to make a man slam the door quick. He (she, it?) was as tall as Manning, but there the resemblance ended. His body was rectangular, covered with bits of gayly colored cloth, and supported on three sturdy legs. His head was a perfect square, with one eye and a mouth opening on each of four sides. In the center of the top of his head there was a growth of stiff, antennae-like hair. A ribbon was tied about it some four inches above his head, and the remaining five inches of hair flopped out over it so that it gave the appearance of a mushroom.

"We don't want any," Manning said. He started to close the door.

"Please," said the figure, holding up a broad, flat tentacle. He hissed his sibilants, a common practice among many of the galactic races when they spoke Terran. "I would introduce myself."

"Go ahead," Manning said ungraciously.

"I am Angus McBlla, in all modesty the best guide on Canopus." The eye facing Manning winked slowly. "I am what you might call a black market guide. I will give you service for twenty per cent less than any other guide and with fifty per cent more efficiency. I am sufficiently bonded to cover all accidents which may befall you."

"That's nice," Manning said drily. He was about to add that he hardly needed a guide to find his way around in his room, when he decided he might as well get the next step of his case over. "Just a minute," he said. He turned back to the blonde. "There's a guide here, dear. I might as well go find out about renting one of those asteroids."

"All right," she called. She was using the shrew-voice again. "But you hurry right back here, Melvin Draco. I didn't travel six hundred and fifty light years just to sit in a hotel room—"

"Yes, dear," Manning said, closing the door gently but firmly. He walked down the corridor with the guide.

"The lady has—ah—a well-developed voice," Angus McBlla said carefully. His shock of hair seemed to be still quivering.

Manning was about to point out that everything about the lady was well-developed when he realized that was hardly the role for a man who wanted to get rid of his wife. "You can say that again, brother," he said.

"Did you wish to go somewhere?" the guide inquired politely. "Or did you merely wish to get out of the room?"

Manning laughed. "I can see you've had experience with Terrans," he said. "I want to find a second-hand asteroid dealer named Dzanku Dzanku. Know where he's located?"

"The honest Rigelian? It is well that you asked me to guide you. His place is in the center of town and most difficult to find. But Angus McBlla will take you there with ease. Come."

III

The Rigelian's place of business occupied a corner lot in the center of Canopusia. Across two sides of the lot there were huge banners announcing his presence:

"DIZZY" DZANKU, THE HONEST RIGELIAN—KING OF THE SECOND-HAND ASTEROIDS—MY PRICES ARE SO LOW YOU'RE CRAZY IF YOU DON'T TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ME.

A small one-room bungalow snuggled in one corner of the lot. There were, of course, no actual asteroids on the lot, but it was filled with scaled models of the ones he had to rent or sell.

Angus McBlla accompanied Manning to the corner and then went into a sense-lounge[5] to wait until he had concluded his business. Manning entered the office of the Honest Rigelian.

[5] Due to the Anti-Sense League and the McCarrion Space Entry Act of 3159, sense-lounges are unknown on Terra, but they are found in great numbers on most other planets which have considerable inter-galactic traffic. They are primarily for those races with more complex and sensitive sense organs and humans can stay in them any length of time without having any reaction at all. A sense-lounge will have numerous small cubicles into which patrons can retire. The cubicle is then filled with a combination of sounds and smells which are intoxicating.

The individual in the office was undoubtedly a Rigelian. He was no taller than Manning, but he probably weighed at least a ton by Terra standards. His thick, square torso was supported by two legs, each as thick as a tree trunk. From the upper part of his body projected six tentacles. His face was small and expressionless, with three eye-stalks raised several inches above it.

For a moment the Terran and the Rigelian stared at each other. As J. Barnaby had pointed out earlier, if this were an honest Rigelian, then it would probably be the only one that Manning would ever see. Yet in some mysterious fashion he had the distinct impression that this one was honest. Since he had come expecting to believe just the opposite, this was surprising. In the meantime, he noticed that the Rigelian was regarding him with something like astonishment in each of his three eyes.

"You are a Terran?" the Rigelian finally asked.

"Of course," Manning said.

"Strange ... you must be a new model. I can't ever remember meeting one quite like you...."

"What's so strange about me?" Manning demanded.

The Rigelian realized that he was hardly acting in the proper way to a potential customer and his tentacles waved in mild agitation. "I—that is—you seem somewhat more distinctive than the average Terran," he said. It was obvious that he was lying, an interesting fact in itself since Rigelians were noted for their smooth lying. "Can I help you in some way?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Dzanku."

"You've found him," the Rigelian said, recovering his professional enthusiasm. "I am Dizzy Dzanku, the Honest Rigelian. Every asteroid comes with a ninety day guarantee. If it's a crypt-asteroid you're interested in, I guarantee those for life." He gave a well rehearsed laugh.

"My name is Melvin Draco," Manning said. "The little woman and I are up here on a vacation and I want to rent an asteroid."

"I see," Dzanku said, rubbing his tentacles together. "I have some rather fine Honeymoon Specials...."

"No honeymoon," Manning said sourly. He hoped that he sounded like a jaded husband. "But I would like something fairly quiet so my wife can't be inviting too many people to drop in on us. I'm up here for a rest."

"Of course," the Rigelian said. He glanced shrewdly at Manning. "Something with twin bedrooms, perhaps?"

"Fine," Manning said. "If they are also soundproofed so much the better."

"To be sure," said Dzanku, with an air of having dealt with such Terrans before. "I have several which I think might fill the bill. Would you like to step out to look at the models?"

They went out on the lot where the Rigelian displayed his models. There were several asteroids that seemed about right. Those that were for rent had small modern homes, equipped with the latest model of robot-servants, and included a small spaceabout for trips down to the planet. Manning finally settled on one which was also furnished with a tiny hunting lodge at a good safe distance from the main house. He paid the advance rent and the Rigelian assured him that the spaceabout would be at the port by the time he could arrive there.

Manning stopped at the sense-lounge for the guide, who seemed a trifle gayer for his pick-me-up, and they returned to the hotel. He checked out and Angus McBlla guided him and Fanya back to the spaceport. He insisted on giving Manning his visinumber in case his services might be needed later. Then Manning and Fanya blasted off for the asteroid.

The next two days passed pleasantly enough—except for the fact that Manning Draco still had to keep his distance with one of the most beautiful blondes he had ever seen. The efficiency of the device she wore was enough to make a man lose faith in modern science.

On the morning of the third day, a Canopusian copter dropped by the asteroid and left some mail, one letter addressed to Mr. Melvin Draco. It was from the Marital Relations Bureau of Canopus and its contents were almost identical with the letter Manning had seen in the Greater Solarian office.

"Well, it looks like we're getting somewhere, baby," he told Fanya. "It won't be long now."

Her blue eyes were intense as she stared back at him. "It can't be too soon for me," she said.

Manning was flattered that her eagerness seemed to match his own. He had noticed her becoming more tense and restless during the two days they had been on the asteroid.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," he said. "How did J. Barnaby manage to instill such loyalty in you? Why bother to keep your word, since he is so obviously using you?"

"It's not loyalty," she answered. "The device I'm wearing broadcasts a signal to a receiver in Mr. Cruikshank's office. If I remove it, he will know it at once and he swore he could have the space patrol here before I—before we would even have a chance to get acquainted."

"He would too," Manning said, adding a few choice observations on the man who was his superior.

"But," she said softly, "he promised that he would disconnect the receiver the minute he heard from you that the case is solved."

"There must be a catch in it somewhere," grumbled Manning. "I never knew J. Barnaby to be so generous. But, in the meantime, I'd better run along and see our Mr. Nadyl."

She blew him a kiss as he left the house.

On the way down to Canopus, Manning put in a call for Angus McBlla and when he arrived at the spaceport the guide was already waiting for him.

"I want to go to twenty-seven Circle Square," he told the guide. "You know where it is?"

"Nothing to it," Angus said as he hailed an air-cab. He chuckled as they climbed in. "You know, Circle Square created quite an interest when the Canopusians first started trying to interest the rest of the universe in coming here by sending out pamphlets. But the attraction died as soon as the first bunch of galactic scholars arrived."

"Why?" Manning asked.

"Well, the sales literature of the Chamber of Commerce gave the impression that the Canopusians, in building Circle Square, had finally managed to square a circle. But all they had actually done was build the street on two levels. The first level was a square and the second level was a circle."

"Clever, these Canopusians," Manning said drily.

Within a few minutes, Angus guiding the driver, the air-cab set down on the upper level of Circle Square and let them out. Angus pointed out number 27 and once more went to a sense-lounge to wait for his client.

The office of the Marital Relations Bureau turned out to be a lavish place. The lighting was subtle, giving the impression of being standard Romance lighting. Actually, Manning soon realized, the combination was an exaggeration of the usual lighting guaranteed to stimulate romantic emotions. As a result, he guessed, a few minutes in the reception room could almost be certain to turn genuine love to hate. He also suspected that there was an Antagonist perfume being sprayed into the room, but he could not be certain.

The receptionist was a Canopusian. She took Manning's name and asked him to wait. She made a couple of attempts to get him to talking about his problems, but gave up when she had no success.

It was about fifteen minutes before she told Manning he could go in. She indicated the door back of her desk and he went through, into one of the most luxurious offices he had ever seen. Everything in it, in terms of color and lighting, had been planned to establish trust in the occupant. Again, Manning thought he caught a faint scent of one of the dependency perfumes[6], but it was so slight he couldn't swear to it.

[6] The entire line of Hypno-Perfumes had, of course, been banned throughout the galaxy in 2963, after the scandal caused by the Crunchy Suit Company spraying an entire planet just before they started a planet-wide visicast campaign to unload an inventory of shoddy clothes. It was rumored, however, that a few companies still used the perfumes, adulterated with some new chemical that made it almost impossible to detect them without the most delicate of instruments.

Nottyl Nadyl was short and fat. He was no more than four feet tall, but his rounded body was almost as wide as the desk behind which he sat. His head was another, smaller balloon. He was partly bald, but a luxurious growth of coarse hair sprouted from the back of his head, hanging halfway down his back. A broad smile crinkled the flesh up around his four eyes, giving him a jolly appearance.

"Come in, come in," he called as Manning stopped in the doorway. "Welcome to the Marital Relations Bureau of Canopus—the refuge of bruised spirits, the home of last resorts. Come in, sir."

Manning took the chair in front of the desk and examined the creature who beamed at him. He remembered that J. Barnaby had said Nadyl was an Algolian. Manning had met a number of Algolians. He was certain that Angus McBlla, the guide, was also from Algol—but Nadyl seemed to be from a different race than any of the others he'd seen.

"I am Nottyl Nadyl, at your service," the Algolian said. "No marital problem too difficult for us. Your name, sir?" He still smiled broadly, but his eyes were studying Manning with a humorless gaze.

"Melvin Draco," said Manning. He was certain the Algolian already knew his name.

"And how did you happen to seek our services, Mr. Draco?"

"You sent me a letter," Manning said, pulling it from his pocket.

"We send out so many letters," murmured Nadyl. "So there is a rift in your conjugal bliss—do you find it difficult to understand me, Mr. Draco? Should I speak more simply?"

"Of course, I understand you; I'm hardly an idiot," Manning said irritably.

"Of course not," the Algolian said hastily, but his voice lacked conviction. "You are a Terran?"

"I'm a Terran." Manning was beginning to wonder what some of these aliens on Canopus thought Terrans were like; this was the second time he'd been asked doubtfully about his origin. He checked the impulse to look to see if his clothing was disarranged. For a minute he felt like the man at whom the famous Tongue-Shrinker[7] ads were aimed.

[7] Do you retain sophisticated poise in all circumstances, or are you often embarrassed by lack of TC[8]? When you see something you want and can't have, does your tongue hang out? If so, buy Mechel's Patented Tongue-Shrinker. (adv.)

[8] Tongue-Control.

Whatever it was that was disturbing the Algolian, he dismissed it. "Well," he said briskly, "what seems to be your problem, Mr. Draco?"

"My wife," Manning said solemnly, "is a very beautiful woman and I am quite fond of her. But the poor woman has a most unpleasant voice which she uses almost constantly. And lately she seems to have decided that a husband's place is across the room from his wife."

"A most unfortunate situation," the Algolian agreed pleasantly. His tentacles busied themselves with things on the desk in a manner reminding Manning of J. Barnaby Cruikshank. "We find it to be, however, a rather common complaint. But not one, I might add, which offers any obstacles to our services."

"Just how do you work?" Manning asked.

"As stated in my letter, there is no charge for consultation. If I succeed—and I have never failed, Mr. Draco—in eliminating your problem, there will be a charge of one hundred credits."

"That seems fair enough."

"But," the Algolian said, "you must follow all of my recommendations to the letter."

Manning squirmed in his seat, giving a good imitation of a man who wants to be sure of something, but doesn't know how to approach it. "The—ah—treatment is permanent?" he asked.

"Oh, decidedly permanent," the Algolian said cheerfully.

Manning peered at the letter again, then glanced hesitatingly at Nadyl. "I was especially interested in this sentence in your letter which refers to the possibility of—ah—making a profit...."

"I'm glad you mentioned that," Nadyl said. "It is always a pleasure to do business with a practical man. Do you carry insurance, Mr. Draco?"

"Only a small policy on myself...."

"Insurance," the Algolian said sententiously, "is one of the wisest investments a man can make. I suggest that at your earliest opportunity you take out a joint policy covering yourself and your wife. A policy for not less than one hundred thousand credits. One never knows when the grim reaper may snatch away a beloved and it is well to be financially prepared for such events."

"I suppose so," Manning said dutifully.

"We trust, of course, that you and your wife will both enjoy the fruits of longevity, but in the event of any untoward fatality to your wife I suggest that you deal with the Happy Asteroid Mortuary here on Canopus. The owner, Encycla Grave, is from my own planet and I can assure you that he operates with the utmost tact. He will handle all details for a quiet burial on an asteroid, which will then be power-driven out into space, leaving no trace of—er—your recent bereavement. Although he is rather expensive, he is worth it."

"How expensive?"

"Fifty per cent of the amount of the policy on your wife," the Algolian said. "This may seem large until you consider the extent of his services and the fact that there is still a comfortable margin between the amount you retain and the one year premium you will have paid."

"Let me get this straight," Manning said bluntly. His forehead was wrinkled with thought. "If I take out an insurance policy for a hundred thousand credits or more, and if I agree to give half of it to this undertaker fellow, then you'll kill my wife. Is that it?"

The Algolian threw up his tentacles in horror. "My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "must you talk like a character on a visiscreen thriller? Rather let us put it this way: You have a marital problem. Your wife's present attitude and actions are an obstacle to your complete happiness. I am an individual who is deeply concerned about the happiness of everyone. If, therefore, you agree to follow all of my various suggestions, I will undertake to eliminate the things which stand in the way of your happiness. There is, you understand, no guarantee of anything; neither is there any cost to you until you have had your present discomfort alleviated."

"You certainly do a lot of talking to say something that's pretty simple," Manning observed. "But I guess that's your way, so we'll leave it at that."

"Good," said the Algolian. "You may put your trust in me, Mr. Draco. Good day, sir."

"I'll wait to hear from you," Manning said.

IV

Back on the asteroid, there was nothing to do but wait. Under the circumstances, that wasn't easy. During the day, Manning went down to the hunting lodge. There wasn't anything to hunt, but he didn't mind. The idea was to get away from Fanya. The lodge was equipped with a number of devices to amuse the idle rich, but most of these were of an erotic nature so he ignored them, since they would only lead his thoughts back to the blonde. In the evening, he usually tried to escape to his room and watch the visicasts. To stay in the same room with the blonde too long was a mistake; he'd soon find himself wanting to defy science.

The morning after his visit to the marriage counselor, Manning and Fanya had their first visitors. A U-pilot ship drifted in and set down on the small port in front of the house. The hatch swung open and two individuals stepped out. One of them was a nondescript Terran; the other was an Algolian, but of still a different species.

Despite his bulky size and the usual three legs[9], he was roughly humanoid in appearance. His head was shaped very much like that of a human. It was completely bald and there were two eyes in front and two in the rear. The slight similarity was helped by the fact that the lower part of his face was encased in a bushy beard. The beard seemed to have a life of its own, indicating that the hairs were sense organs.

[9] In the small amount of literature on the subject, it had been noted that there were always three identical features about Algolians, although everything else might be different. These were the three legs, the four eyes, and that any hair on their bodies were invariably sense organs. But because no one had yet seen two Algolians who looked alike, these features were about the only way of identifying natives of that planet.

The visitors turned out to be Sam Warren and Jaba Woo, the representatives of the Greater Solarian Insurance Company, Monopolated. They pretended to have dropped by accidentally and Manning gave no indication that he had other thoughts on the subject.

After considerable idle chatter, the subject of insurance came up. Manning admitted that he might be in the market for some and inquired about joint policies. It just happened that the two insurance salesmen had come equipped for his special problems and it wasn't long before Mr. and Mrs. Melvin Draco were each insured for two hundred thousand credits. Manning had decided to double the minimum suggested by Nadyl on the grounds that this might make him more eager.

"The place," he said to Fanya when the two happy insurance salesmen had left, "is lousy with Algolians. I wonder what the fourth one will look like?"

"Are you going to see him?" Fanya asked.

Manning shook his head. "All I was told was that I should secure his services if anything happened to you. It might be unseemly if I were to go hire an undertaker in advance."

The blonde giggled.

"Are you sure," Manning asked with concern, "that you're not going to be in any danger?"

"Positive," she said. "There are ways, of course, that he could kill me, but they all require personal contact and the device Mr. Cruikshank gave me will protect me from that as well as from what you have in mind ... but you must hurry, Manning."

"I'll hurry," he said. "And I resent the use of the word 'protection' in connection with my intentions. I'll make you eat that word."

"Any time," she said softly.

Manning thrust his hands deeply into his pockets so that they wouldn't get ideas of their own. "In the meantime," he said savagely, "we have to wait it out."

And wait they did, but not too long. That night there was a call for Manning over a closed circuit on the visiscreen and a clerk in the Milky Way Union read a spacegram to him. It was from Nottyl Nadyl and merely said: "I suggest that tomorrow you make an early visit to your hunting lodge." That was all.

Early the following morning, Manning went to the hunting lodge. Despite Fanya's assurance, he was a little nervous about leaving her there to face whatever the jolly Algolian counselor had in mind. He grew even more fidgety when he heard a small ship landing near the house. He almost held his breath, waiting for the next step.

When it came he almost jumped out of his chair. It was the rapid firing of a sub-atomic gun, guaranteed to bring down anything up to a Marfakian Lair-Lizard which weighed seventy tons. It hardly seemed possible that a frail creature like the blonde could withstand a round of shots from that gun.

Manning ran from the lodge and dashed frantically toward the house, the light gravity of the asteroid permitting him to cover twenty feet at a leap. Even so, he was no more than halfway to the house when he saw a small ship leaving the asteroid with a rush.

Reaching the house, he ran into the living room and stopped, horrified at what he saw. Fanya Sera was sprawled on the floor. The room and a good portion of the furniture had been wrecked by the shots that had been fired.

He was shocked out of his grief by the sound of soft laughter. Then Fanya was sitting up, smiling at him.

"You're not hurt?" he asked in astonishment.

"Not at all," she said. "I just thought it more dramatic to fall this way and let him think he had killed me. Oh, I may have a few small bruises, but that'll be all. See."

She opened the front of her dress and stood up. There were a series of small red spots, running from her navel to her collar bone, but so far as he could see, that was all the damage. Knowing that she was unharmed, however, Manning found it difficult to confine his gaze to the region of the bruises.

The blonde laughed again and slowly closed her dress.

"Now what do we do?" she asked.

"Ordinarily that would be a stupid question," Manning said drily. "As it is, however, we merely wait until Mr. Nadyl has time to get back to his office and then I will call and tell him that he's failed. That ought to throw him into enough of a panic so things will get interesting."

They waited, but not as long as they had expected to. Manning was just about to go make his call when they heard a ship coming in to land. A moment later, there was a soft note from the door announcer. Manning went and threw it open.

The fourth Algolian stood there. He was all of eight feet tall, his body not much thicker than a man's leg. Again there were the three legs and the four eyes, but they were quite different in appearance from those of the others. And this one, Manning noticed when he turned partly sideways had his hair in the back, looking somewhat like a rooster's tail. He was dressed entirely in black and there was a solemn expression on his thin face.

"Mr. Melvin Draco?" he asked in a melancholy voice.

"Yes." Manning said.

"I regret to intrude upon your moment of tragedy, Mr. Draco, but there are certain traditions we must carry on, painful though they be. But I want you to know that my heart goes out to you in your hour of grief and I stand ready to remove much of the burden from your shoulders."

"Who are you?" Manning asked.

"Encycla Grave, of the Happy Asteroid Mortuary. Now there are a few trifling—" He caught a glimpse of Fanya in the background and broke off. "Ah, I see there is someone with you. A relative, perhaps...."

"Oh, that's my wife," Manning said.

There was sheer amazement on the Algolian's face. "Surely you jest, sir? It is hardly possible you could have remarried so quickly, to say nothing of the fact that it would be in extremely bad taste—"

"But I haven't remarried," Manning said patiently. "This is my only wife. We arrived from Terra only a few days ago. Now what was it you wanted to see me about?"

"I don't understand," the Algolian said in some agitation. "Your wife—oh, dear, this is terrible. You must excuse me...." He turned and ran for his ship, his long legs twinkling over the ground. It took him only a minute to reach it and then the ship was lancing up into the sky.

Inside the house, Manning and Fanya laughed together.

"He'll report back to his friend, the happiness boy," Manning said, "and by the time I call, Mr. Nadyl's nerves should be in a fine state. Or maybe I'll beat him to it."

He started for the other room only to be called back by the blonde. "There's another ship coming in," she said.

Manning listened and heard it. He came back to stand beside her. "Who do you suppose is interested in your corpse now?"

They heard the ship ease to the ground and cut to silence. Then a moment later, the door announcer sounded again. Manning strode across the room and flung open the door.

This time it was a Terran who stood there. He was a tall man, lean of frame and hard of eye. His clothes were a little old-fashioned, as was the snap-brim hat he wore. His gaze bored into Manning's.

"I'm Mickey Hatchet," he said in a clipped voice.

Manning nodded, surprised. He was familiar with the name.[10]

[10] So was everybody else in the galaxy who ever watched the visicasts. Once every week, year in and year out, Mickey Hatchet waded through gallons of gore and over the bodies of beautiful babes for the entertainment of untold billions. But few people knew the full story of Mickey Hatchet. In the beginning he had been merely the creation of a writer named Spunky Malone—the last of the private detectives. But over the years, as he grew more and more popular, the author began to identify himself with the character he had created. Finally, Spunky Malone had his name legally changed to Mickey Hatchet. Then he arranged to have all the visifilms done in half of each year; the other half, Mickey Hatchet roamed the universe (he owned the only private detective license in existence by this time), fighting evil where he found it and trying to make this a better universe in which to live. It was a one-sided battle, but there was nothing that could make Mickey Hatchet swerve from the firmness of his purpose—nothing.

"My name is Draco," Manning said. "This is Mrs. Draco."

Mickey Hatchet's gaze raked over the blonde. There was something in his eyes that said he might have been interested if there had only been time.

"Caught the vibrations of some shots," he said. "What's the caper?"

"Shots? Caper?" Manning said. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. My wife and I were just sitting here talking."

Mickey Hatchet shoved past him into the room. He looked around, taking in the damaged furniture and walls. His gaze raked over the body of the blonde.

"You and your wife must've had some pretty hard words," he said. He strode over and grabbed Manning by the shoulders. "I don't like it," he said. "Something's going on here. It's in the air. I can smell it."

"Nothing that I can't handle," Manning said, stepping out of his grip.

"Look," said Mickey Hatchet. "I'm in this. To the finish. I don't like being in it any better than you would. But that's the way it is. There are a lot of alley cats in this universe, who'll do anything for a fast credit; they don't care whose blood it is. But it's my universe, too. I'd like it to be a clean place to live and I'm going to see that it is. You understand that?"

"I think so," Manning said.

"Okay." Mickey Hatchet's gaze raked over the blonde again. He saw that the zipper on her dress hadn't been pulled all the way to the top. He pointed a bony finger and whirled on Manning. "The broad had her dress open?"

"Yes," Manning admitted.

"And she's wearing nothing under it?"

"Y-yes. But—"

"Happens to me all the time," Mickey Hatchet said wearily. He pointed the finger again, this time at her middle. "There's only one thing to do. Pow!" He turned and strode toward the door.

"Wait a minute," Manning said. "There is something you might be able to do."

"You want a little private eye work you've come to the right place. What?"

"Pretty soon there'll be another ship coming here. When it leaves, it'll leave in a hurry. Think you can tail it?"

"I'll tail him so close you'll think I grew on his back," said Mickey Hatchet.

"How do I get in touch with you?" Manning asked.

"Call my ship. The Trigger Happy."

Fanya murmured something in her own tongue[11] but neither man paid any attention.

[11] What she'd said was, "If a man answers, hang up."

"All right," Manning said. "I'll get in touch with you later."

"I'll be around," Mickey Hatchet said. He turned and slammed out of the house. A moment later his ship took off as though it had a burr under its rockets.

"I've heard a lot about him," Manning said. He looked at the blonde with curiosity. "Tell me, did you have any urge to rip your dress off while he was in the room?"

"No, but I do now," she said. One hand went to the zipper on her dress.

"Not now," Manning said hastily and fled to the other room.

Manning put in a call to Nottyl Nadyl. The latter's face, when it appeared on the screen, was not as jolly as it had been the last time Manning had seen it. It was impossible to tell since there was no color on the screen, but Manning thought his face looked a little green. The undertaker must have already been in touch with him.

"What kind of a bungler are you?" Manning demanded. "My wife is still alive."

"I don't understand it," the Algolian said. A ray of hope struggled into his face. "I don't suppose the accident has changed your mind—made you realize that the bonds of matrimony are more precious than you thought?"

"Certainly not," snapped Manning. "I made a bargain and I expect you to fulfill it."

The Algolian sighed heavily. "Very well. I suggest that you go back to the hunting lodge. I shall be there shortly and this time I guarantee that nothing will go wrong."

"It better not," Manning said and broke the connection.

He told Fanya to get set for another visit, then went on down to the lodge. This time he felt less restless, but he sat by a window where he could watch the house.

It wasn't long before he saw the ship coming in. But instead of landing as it had before, it merely swooped low over the house. Then it went into a steep, rapid climb. Immediately afterward there was an explosion that rocked the lodge.

Manning hadn't expected a bomb and his old fears returned. He ran for the house as rapidly as he could. Even as he ran, however, he saw a second ship dart out from behind a distant asteroid and take out after the first one.

When he reached the house, it wasn't necessary to open the door. While the rest of the house was intact, what had once been the living room was only smoking rubble. That meant a controlled oxygen bomb, one of the most deadly weapons known to the civilized galaxy.

And there in the center of the rubble, her dress scorched and in tatters, stood Fanya Sera. She laughed at the sight of Manning's face.

When he was finally convinced that she was unharmed—he'd started to pinch her to make certain but a warning tremor had proved the ultrasonic device was equally indestructible—he relaxed.

"I think that'll be the last attempt," he told her. "I want to make sure that Nadyl knows he's failed again. Then I'm going down to Canopus and clean this up while they're still in a panic." He went into his room and put in a call to Nadyl's office. He left a message with the Canopusian receptionist. Then he rejoined the blonde.

"I'm on my way," he said. He noticed that, if anything, the damaged condition of her dress made her even more appealing. "I don't suppose you'd care to shut that gadget off long enough to give me a kiss for luck?"

"I'd like to, but I won't," she said.

"I thought you wouldn't," he said with a sigh. "Well, by the time I come back it'll all be over."

"I'll be waiting for you in your room," she said. There was even more promise in the quality of her voice than there was in the words.

"With the lights out?" he asked with a grin.

"With the lights out," she said solemnly. "You can turn them on later, if you like, but they'll be out when you arrive."

He pretended to catch the kiss she threw and tuck it in his pocket. Then he went down to his ship.

V

On the way down to Canopus, Manning put in a call to the guide he had used before. He wanted to be able to move fast and he knew that he wouldn't be able to get anywhere without a guide. His call was taken by an answering service, but the girl assured him that Angus McBlla would be at the spaceport by the time Manning was.

He was, too. Manning explained to him the places he wanted to go and they started out in an air-cab.

The first stop was at the hotel where Jaba Woo lived. He wasn't in and he hadn't been all day. Sam Warren lived at the same hotel, so Manning dropped in there. The little Terran claimed he didn't know where his Algolian partner was. He told Manning that Jaba Woo had been supposed to be there an hour earlier so that they could keep an appointment with a client, but he hadn't even called. His concern seemed to be sincere.

Manning picked up his guide in the hotel's sense-lounge and they went on to the Happy Asteroid Mortuary. The building was an imposing structure, designed in the shape of an asteroid. There were a number of employees around, mostly Canopusians, but no Encycla Grave. By questioning the employees, Manning discovered that he hadn't been there since some time before he had called at Manning's rented asteroid.

By this time, Manning was expecting the pattern to be repeated. Nevertheless, he went to Circle Square and the office of the Marital Relations Bureau. The Canopusian receptionist was there. So were two clients. But that was all. The receptionist had no idea what was delaying Mr. Nadyl. She suggested that Manning sit down and wait with the other two men.

By this time, Manning was convinced that his hunch was right. He went over to the sense-lounge where Angus McBlla was waiting and used the public visibooth to put in a call to Terra. When J. Barnaby Cruikshank showed up on the screen, he quickly reported what had been going on.

"I think," he said, "that Nadyl must have realized that the bomb also failed to kill Fanya. Probably had a ground scanner in his ship. That must have made him realize it was a trap. He notified the other two and they all started looking for a hole. I'm hoping that Mickey Hatchet will have something for me on Nadyl. Otherwise it may be tough."

"What about Sam Warren and this Dzanku?" J. Barnaby asked.

"I haven't seen Dzanku and I think Sam Warren's in the clear."

"I don't pay you to think," snapped J. Barnaby. "I'm telling you they have to be mixed up in it. Check that Rigelian."

"All right," Manning said. "In the meantime, I'm going to come out in the open. That'll let me check a lot of angles I've had to stay away from as long as I was supposed to be a tourist."

"Dig up everything you can," said J. Barnaby. "But I think you've got enough evidence to make the beginnings of a case. We don't want them slipping through our fingers. I'm going to tell the Federation police to issue pick-up orders on all five of them. Maybe they'll be in custody by the time you've finished checking."

"Maybe," Manning said doubtfully.

"How are you getting along with Fanya?" J. Barnaby asked. There was something suspiciously like a chuckle in his voice.

"You know how I'm getting along with her," Manning said darkly. "But I'll soon wash up this case and then it'll be a different story."

"When you've finished this case," J. Barnaby said sternly, "I order you to come directly home. I forbid you to take any time to play around with that blonde. I—"

"Get lost," Manning said and cut the connection.

He collected his guide and they went looking for the second-hand asteroid dealer. They found him in his little office. It turned out that he, too, was looking for the Algolian undertaker. The latter had bought a crypt-asteroid from him the day before, but hadn't yet paid for it.

"You think he's skipped out?" Dzanku asked Manning.

"I don't know," Manning said evasively. "Why should he skip? He has a successful business. I wouldn't think he'd walk out on that."

"I don't know," the Rigelian said. "You can never tell...."

"You think he's mixed up in something crooked?"

"I didn't say that."

"You did a lot of business with him?" Manning asked.

"Yes."

"How did he pay you in the past?"

"Always in cash," Dzanku said. He hesitated, then went on. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Draco, that's why I was a little suspicious of him. You take an established business man, when he always pays in cash you begin to wonder how established he is. It looks like he might always be ready to move fast."

"I see what you mean," Manning said. "By the way, did you ever have any dealings with a Nottyl Nadyl?"

The Rigelian looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "I don't remember anyone by that name."

"What about Jaba Woo?"

Again the Rigelian shook his head. His three eyes peered intently at Manning. "Both of them Algolians?" he asked.

Manning nodded.

"I don't know them," Dzanku said, "but if it means anything you can be sure they know each other. All Algolians have a very close relationship."

They talked some more and Manning had the distinct impression that the Rigelian was leveling with him. He had an impulse to warn him that the police would soon be after him, but suppressed it.

After leaving Dzanku, Manning found another public visibooth. He asked the operator to locate the ship Trigger Happy. It took about five minutes, but finally the voice of Mickey Hatchet answered. The screen, however, remained blank.

"This is Draco," Manning said. "Why aren't you using video?"

"Can't," came the cryptic answer. "That would get me in real trouble."

"What about that ship you were tailing?" Manning asked.

"Better not report on this hook-up," Mickey Hatchet said grimly. "Come to my ship and I'll fill you in."

"Where are you?"

"Six-two over three-zero at forty thousand feet."

Muttering his opinion of the Universe's last private eye, Manning left the booth. He picked up Angus McBlla and back they went to the spaceport. Ordering Angus to wait, Manning went up in his own ship. He soon found Mickey Hatchet's ship. He edged in next to it, switched on the grappling magnet, and a few minutes later was stepping through the hatch of the other ship.

Then he found out why Mickey Hatchet had refused to use video. He wasn't alone. There was a lush-looking red-headed Terran girl with him. Manning had no trouble appreciating her best points for she wore no clothing at all.

"A friend of yours?" Manning said.

"Ahh," said Mickey Hatchet, making a sound of disgust in his throat. The girl had edged closer to him and he reached out and gave her a shove.

"Hon-ey," she said plaintively in protest. Her voice came from the back of her throat and sounded like she was in the grip of a personal emotional crisis.

"I hate to intrude on your love life," Manning said drily, "but I would like to know about that ship you were tailing."

"Sure. That guy that bombed your place, he barrelled out of there like a shot. But I was on his tail and stuck there as close as a bill collector ... get out of here." The last was to the redhead who was edging up again.

"Hon-ey," the girl said.

"Dames," said Mickey Hatchet in disgust. "Anyway, there we were—cutting around through that asteroid field like a couple of kids playing hide-and-seek. And all the time this dame was a stow-away on my ship—beat it, baby."

"Hon-ey," the girl said.

"Scram out of here," Mickey Hatchet said to the redhead. "I'm trying to talk to the man."

"Hon-ey," the girl said, starting to edge up again.

"I'll plow you," Mickey Hatchet spat. The girl didn't stop. Mickey Hatchet drew a gun, leveled it and pulled the trigger. The girl fell to the floor, twitched a few times and then was quiet.[12] There was a hole in her belly and the blood was oozing out. Mickey Hatchet used his foot to slide the body into the escape hatch. He kicked a lever and the body shot out into space. "The garbage detail can pick her up tomorrow," he said. He patted his gun. "This is the one thing that never fails me in handling those dames. Now where was I?"

[12] Mickey Hatchet was actually not as harmful as it might seem. The only thing that made him trigger happy was the attention of undraped females. Very few girls had conducted themselves in this manner for years, if they ever had, so they were fairly safe. The redhead was, in truth, a cleverly-made robot. The producer of the Mickey Hatchet visiscreen show had a number of these robots made up each year and planted in strategic spots. They were activated by Mickey Hatchet's presence. He never knew the truth of the matter, but the robots did a lot to keep him happy.

"Playing hide-and-seek, I think," Manning said. He had been fascinated by the little drama he'd watched. He'd heard about this side of Mickey Hatchet's life, but this was the first time he'd seen it in action.

"Yeah. Like I said, I was barrelling after this guy when suddenly that dame appeared. With nothing on, just as you saw. Really stacked, too, if you know what I mean, but I was busy. I told her to get lost. Then she came over and sat right down on my lap. I was trying to figure out what her game was, and wondering if I should just sap her, and while that was going on I lost that guy. He dodged behind one of those asteroids and by the time I could get the dame off my lap and get straightened out, he was gone."

"All right," Manning said with a sigh. He knew there was no point in saying what he thought. "That's the way it goes sometimes. Stick around, Mickey, and I'll let you know the score."

"You want me to go down and smoke them out?"

"No, you stay here. Just circle around until you hear from me." Manning went back to his own ship. His last glimpse of Mickey Hatchet, the private eye was shaking his head. "Dames," he was saying.

When he got back to the spaceport, he had his program all mapped out. With Angus McBlla guiding him, he made the rounds. Starting with space customs, then the local banks, and a number of business houses. When he'd finished, he had collected some interesting facts.

Jaba Woo was the only Algolian who had officially entered Canopus. He was also the only one of the three who had a bank account. Both Nottyl Nadyl and Encycla Grave had paid cash for everything they bought. What was even more interesting was that he could find no resident address for either Nadyl or Grave. Jaba Woo had made large deposits coinciding with each one of the deaths in the insurance cases. He had also made large withdrawals, but he still had a very comfortable balance. He hadn't been to the bank to close the account, but he had made a visicall, asking the bank to transfer his account to the First Galactic Bank on Pictor. Manning arrived at the bank just in time. As Chief Investigator for Greater Solarian he also had police powers, so the transfer was stopped.

The spaceport officials were certain that no one—especially an Algolian—had left the planet. Yet the three Algolians had managed to vanish completely, unless the police had managed to find them. Quite obviously they had been ready to vanish the minute anything went wrong with their racket. And the minute Nadyl had realized that "Mrs. Draco" was an indestructible, he had flashed the word that the game was up.

"Angus," Manning said to the guide as they left the bank, "did you know Jaba Woo, Nottyl Nadyl and Encycla Grave?"

"I knew them," the guide said. "Not well, you understand."

"I thought that all Algolians maintained a very close relationship. That's what I was told."

"True up to a point," the guide admitted. "But you have to consider the class differences. The ones you mention were all business men while I am a mere guide. They would have considered it degrading to be too friendly with me."

They walked past a corner where some workers were excavating for a new building. The blasting was being done with ultrasonics. Manning could hear nothing, although it was strong enough to make him aware of pressure on his nerves. But he noticed that Angus McBlla's face contorted with pain. The knot of hair on his head momentarily lost its mushroom-shape, seemed to be almost trying to move over to the side of his face away from the blasting. Then they were past the corner and the sensitive hearing-hair resumed its shape.

"You know that I'm trying to find them," Manning said. "Would you have any idea where they've gone?"

The guide shook his head. "Algolians are very hard to find," he said, "when they wish not to be found. Maybe they've left Canopus."

"I don't think so," Manning said. "Well, there are a few other things I want to check, but first take me to the headquarters of the Federation police."

"Sure thing," the guide said cheerfully. "It's not far; we might as well walk."

They had almost reached the police station when Manning had a bright idea. He stopped off at a public visibooth and put in a call to the Solar University on Mars. He was in the booth for a long time, but when he emerged he looked a little more cheerful.

"Did you find them?" the waiting guide asked.

"No," Manning said. "That was a personal call."

When they reached the police station, Angus McBlla was about to head for the nearest sense-lounge, but Manning stopped him. "I'll only be in here long enough to find out if they know anything," he said. "Then we'll go on. You might as well go in with me. You'll get loaded if you keep waiting for me in those joints."

Angus grinned and followed him inside.

Leaving the guide waiting in the outer office, Manning went in to see the Sector Commander. The police had picked up Sam Warren and Dzanku Dzanku, both of whom were loudly protesting their innocence, but there was no clue to the three Algolians. The police had also duplicated most of Manning's investigations. Dzanku had a comfortable bank account, but there was no related pattern between his deposits and the insurance crimes. Sam Warren not only had no bank account, but had already hocked his future commissions.

Manning borrowed a small sonic-gun from the Sector Commander. He set it at the lowest intensity and slipped it in his pocket. The Commander walked into the outer office with him.

As they approached Angus McBlla, Manning put his hand in his pocket, tipped the sonic-gun and triggered it.

The Algolian stiffened with the shock, then his flesh moved with a speed that was blinding to watch. The sharp corners of his body blurred and rounded. The flesh on his head writhed, the eyes moving frantically, the antennae-like hair moving down his back.

Manning turned off the sonic-gun. "There," he said, "is our three Algolians."

The guide was rapidly resuming his original shape, but the police had stepped in and quickly put force-cuffs on him before they allowed themselves the luxury of curiosity. They were trained to act first and check the accuracy of their actions later.

"Now, would you explain," said the Commander.

"Sure," Manning said. He indicated the guide, whose four eyes were staring angrily at him. "That's Angus McBlla, alias Nottyl Nadyl, alias Encycla Grave, alias Jaba Woo. When he came here, he merely set himself up as four different Algolians, each one looking different. I should have tumbled to it right away. The officials at the spaceport told me that only one Algolian was officially on this planet. Then Jaba Woo was the only one who had a bank account and a residential address. Three of his four personalities were involved in the racket, but the fourth one wasn't. When things started going wrong, he merely made the three vanish. Then as the guide, the unsuspected one, he trotted around with me. That way he could keep an eye on what was happening."

"But," asked the bewildered official, "how could he manage to look entirely different in each case?"

"I had a hunch," Manning said. "All we've ever known about Algolians is that no two have ever been seen that looked alike. Today, when Angus and I passed a spot where they were doing some sonic-blasting, I thought I saw his hair and flesh move as though trying to get away from it. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But then I decided to give my imagination the benefit of the doubt. I called the Solar University and talked to a specialist in alien life. I suggested that he think of Algolians having psycho-adaptable flesh. He got pretty excited.

"They have discovered life that can change its appearances, but they just hadn't thought of that in connection with Algolians. He said that would explain everything. The Algolians are known to be strongly individualistic; he said if they were able to change their appearance at will, they would probably choose to look differently from their fellow Algolians. He suggested that I try a sonic-gun on one of them and if he started to change appearance, then I was on the right track. You saw what happened."

"Take him away," the Commander ordered. Several of his men led the Algolian back in the direction of the cells.

"Now, I need a visiphone," Manning told the Commander.

He was led into a private office and left alone. He put in a call to J. Barnaby and briefly reported.

"Good boy," J. Barnaby said when he'd finished. "I knew I could depend on you to clean it up."

"Just one more thing," Manning said. "Neither Sam Warren nor Dzanku Dzanku were really mixed up in it. I know you can probably press charges against them, since to some extent they were used by the Algolian, but I suggest you drop them."

Cruikshank shook his head. "They were accessories after the fact, even in the best light. No, they'll have to be charged with that. Maybe I'll see to it that they're let off with a fine providing they contract to pay off our losses. If they do that I'll keep Warren on and maybe give that Rigelian a job and take it out of their commissions."

Manning argued with him some more, but there was no moving J. Barnaby Cruikshank once he'd made up his mind. Manning finally gave up in disgust.

"Another thing," he said. "Are you keeping your word with Fanya?"

"Of course," J. Barnaby said. "I never break my word. But I'm ordering you to stay away from her."

Manning told him what he could do with his orders.

"Manning, my boy," J. Barnaby said, "I—"

Draco broke the connection. He was in a hurry to get back to the asteroid, but first he got permission to see Sam Warren and Dzanku.

The Terran and the Rigelian were both in a single cell. They were a sorry looking pair. Manning first told them about the Algolian and what had been going on.

"He actually was pretty stupid," he finished. "I don't know why he wasn't caught long before."

"You're wrong, you know." Dzanku, the Rigelian, said. "I didn't know what was going on, but I can tell you that you are probably the only Terran who could have set a trap for him with any success."

"What do you mean?" Manning asked.

"Algolians are mind readers," Dzanku said, "even as are we Rigelians. They have, however, a very strong secondary mind shield so that I never could see deeply into his mind. But I know that he would have been able to read the intentions of any other Terran."

"Why couldn't he read my mind then?"

"I'm not too sure. Haven't you ever been given a cybernetic M-R?"

"Many times," Manning said. Then he remembered the peculiar business at the hospital and told the Rigelian about it.

"That must be it," Dzanku said. "Your accident did something that gave you a secondary mind shield—only you are unable to control it, so that it's like a permanent block. I was surprised myself when I met you. It's not like a legitimate mind shield. As a matter of fact, my first impression was that you merely had a very shallow mind—not very bright."

Manning remembered the way "Nadyl" had acted, asking if Manning was able to understand him. It was the way he would have treated someone he considered a moron.

"That's why you were able to trap him," Dzanku said. "He thought you weren't very bright and so he never became suspicious." He studied Manning a minute. "You probably have the beginnings of a genuine mind shield there—thanks to your accident. You ought to take some time off and go to Rigel. We have some excellent mind-trainers there and they might be able to teach you."

"But in the meantime what about us?" Sam Warren asked sourly.

Manning told them about his conversation with J. Barnaby. He said he'd try to argue with him again, but that he doubted that it would do any good. Sam Warren was pretty downcast by the news, but Dzanku seemed to take it in his stride.

"I expected it," he said. "As a matter of fact, I guess I was foolish ever to think I could get away with being honest. My own people turned against me and no one else would ever believe that I was honest. Believe me, I've learned my lesson. Honesty doesn't pay. I've already been in touch with my home planet and I'll get some help from them—since they're convinced that I've reformed." His eye-stalks bent toward Sam Warren. "I think I can help Sam, too."

"Well, I'll try again," Manning said. "In the meantime, I've got to run along. I've got a heavy date with a blonde."

He had reached the cell door before the Rigelian stopped him.

"One minute," said Dzanku. "I appreciate your attitude toward me in this matter, Mr. Draco. I think I might do one more good deed before I completely reform. You won't mind a bit of advice?"

"Of course not," Manning said. He was puzzled, but waited patiently.

"The blonde you're rushing off to see," Dzanku said. "Is that the lady who was posing as your wife, the one that was indestructible?"

"Yes."

"I believe you mentioned that she's from Alioth?"

"Yes."

The Rigelian sighed heavily. "I don't suppose you'll thank me until later, but didn't you know that Aliothan females are restricted to their own planets? They are only allowed off when there are certain precautions taken, and even then it takes a lot of political pull to arrange it."

"She told me about the restrictions," Manning said impatiently. "I gathered it has something to do with the Aliothan women being subjected by the men."

"The restrictions are imposed by the Federation," Dzanku said. "Aliothans are evolved from a form of life known on your Terra as Narbonne Lycosa, or Lycosa narbonnensis. Oh, they are highly evolved, having assumed humanoid shape and all, but they have retained a few of the instincts of their ancestors."

"What are you trying to say?" Manning demanded.

"The Narbonne Lycosa was a spider," Dzanku said gently. "The female of the species always killed and ate the male immediately after breeding. The Aliothan women have retained this trait. Aliothan males have become too submissive for their taste. The only time that females can be taken away from their planet is when they are about ready for mating. They'll mate with any humanoid male and find aliens very attractive. So they will agree to any terms so long as it will finally give them a little free time to mate—and then eat. You've been here for several days now, so I imagine that your blonde is very eager—and very hungry."

Manning had a sudden memory of the eager look in Fanya's eyes and of the fact that she hadn't eaten since he had known her. Suddenly, sick at his stomach, he reeled from the cell.

It wasn't until he had reached the spaceport and the Alpha Actuary that his mind really started functioning again. When it did, he had an idea. He put in a call to the waiting Mickey Hatchet.

"I've got one last order for you, Mickey," he said. "You know my place on the asteroid?"

"Yeah," said the private eye.

"I want you to go there. Don't bother to knock or anything. Just slam into the first bedroom. There's a blonde in there who's been bothering me. You'll know how to handle her."

"Pow!" said Mickey Hatchet, pointing a finger.

"That's the idea. And thanks, Mickey."

"I'll take care of it," the lean private eye said grimly. "Dames." He cut the connection.

Manning took his ship up near the asteroid and waited until he saw the other ship land. He had a brief glimpse of the figure leaping from the ship and barrelling into the house. Then using the magni-drive on his own ship, he nudged the asteroid out of its orbit.

When he had his ship set for Terra, he finally put in a call to J. Barnaby Cruikshank.

"Manning, boy," J. Barnaby said when he recognized his caller. "I've been trying to locate you everywhere. That Fanya Sera—"

"I know," Manning said. "A fine guy you were. Willing to turn me into a table d'hôte in order to get your lousy case solved."

"You don't understand," J. Barnaby said. "I was going to warn you. I tried to, but you cut me off."

"Sure, but what about just turning her loose that way?"

"I've notified the police. What did you do about her?"

Manning chuckled. "I sent Mickey Hatchet over to see her and then I drove the asteroid out into space. You know the old gag about an irresistible force and an immovable object? Well, I've set it in motion. Mickey can't be seduced and Fanya can't be killed—but I'm betting on Mickey. That boy's got guts—even if they are where his brains ought to be."

J. Barnaby laughed with him. "That's my boy," he said. "Come on home. You'll feel better when you get here. I've just hired a new secretary."

Manning Draco's face lit up with interest.

"Unlike Mickey Hatchet, I like dames," he said. "But I got to admit I drew the line at this Fanya. I can't stand a dame who eats in bed."

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Table of Contents

The Agile Algolian

a novel by KENDELL FOSTER CROSSEN

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