Into the Slave Nebula Read Online Free PDF Page A

inscriptions—that in Anglic Terrestrial—but that was enough to make him blink with surprise.
    The legend said, CITIZEN OF THE GALAXY.
    Inside, a solido picture leapt up at him. It must have had bio-identity, for now it was fading from its original lifelike coloring towards a monotone grey, and the eyes in the face were closed. But enough detail remained for him to be certain this was the red-haired man who had died in this room.
    Opposite the picture was a page of wording in an unfamiliar tongue, in the midst of which stood out the name Dordy had mentioned: “Lars Talibrand.” The next page he could read, and was presumably a translation of the foregoing. It declared that on such a day of such a year the government of Creew ’n Dith had nominatedLars Talibrand to the distinction of galactic citizenship, and continued below in slightly different type to the effect that a world called Vernier had seconded the nomination, and again in yet another type added that a world called Lygos had confirmed it. At the foot of the page was a list of five other worlds to which the same Lars Talibrand had rendered signal service.
    Horn felt a chill of awe run down his spine. What kind of a man was this who had died here? What kind of a man could do such work as to make whole planets grateful to him?
    A man human enough to die when a knife was thrust through his heart …
    He got to his feet and determinedly set to, working his way through the sparse belongings in the room. He belatedly decided that it was for that purpose that Dordy had left all the drawers and closets ajar—otherwise only the registered occupant could have gained access to them unless he had one of the staff’s pass-keys. There were a few changes of clothes, none suitable for the gaiety of carnival but all of them exotic to Earthly eyes: cracked leather breeches exuding alien scents, cleated boots, enormous enveloping parkas clearly destined for the climate of some world less thoroughly domesticated than this one. There were toilet articles, new, probably supplied by the hotel since his arrival. Nothing informative beyond that. Maybe the killer had already been through everything, though there was little to suggest hasty disturbance by a stranger.
    Dissatisfied, he opened the booklet anew. He had presumed that it consisted entirely of versions of the same testimonial he had already read, in various languages. Now he found there were only as many translations as there were of the proud title on the cover—five. Behind followed pages and pages of planetary exit and entrystamps. He estimated two hundred or more, covering twenty different worlds, and the thought made him almost dizzy. A traveler, this man!
    Curious, he glanced at the last page seeking an entry stamp for Earth. There wasn’t one. But of course Coolin had been right in one thing: literally thousands of off-worlders came to Earth at carnival time, and the authorities were then likely to grow lax.
    He slid the booklet back in its wallet and set off in search of Dordy. He had a great many questions to ask.

CHAPTER IV
    I N THE PUBLIC ELEVATORS the carnival spirit was already rampant. A slender woman apparently wearing no more than a coat of iridescent paint struggled to persuade him to try a special euphoric she had been given, and on the next stop down a grinning boy of sixteen or so entered announcing his intention of spreading some
joie de vivre
among the robots and androids on the service levels with the help of a large carton of fireworks. Luckily for Horn, who had much more serious business in the service basement, the painted woman managed to press some of her euphoric on the boy before he left the car, and the last sight Horn had of him showed him sitting on the floor with one elbow on his case of fireworks, lost in wave after wave of helpless laughter.
    Puzzled at finding a client in carnival dress in the service basement, a robot inquired whether Horn had lost his way. Shaking his head, he