Look Out For Space (Seven For Space) Read Online Free PDF

snapper.
    After my air shower and robo-rubdown I felt a lot better. Such workouts were necessary. In my lousy life, mixing it up with a real tough monkey keeps my head straight.
    Go soft in my racket and you've bought yourself a one way ticket to the marble orchard.
    I was in the ship's bar relaxing over a sour Saturnian triplestinger, when I happened to glance at the reverse side of my napkin. A message had been printed on it:
CANCEL YOUR CURRENT LINE OF INVESTIGATION. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DISEMBARK AT ANTAR. ACCEPT THE ADVICE OF A FRIEND AND CONTINUE TO ANOTHER DESTINATION. IF YOU FAIL TO HEED THESE WORDS YOU WILL FIND YOUR GOOD HEALTH AFFECTED TO AN ALARMING DEGREE.
    And it was signed, A FRIEND.
    I casually reduced the napkin to a crumpled ball in my fist and flipped it into a burnbin near the table. The napkin disappeared in a tiny pop of flame. Sipping my drink, I said, "Tip me back," to the adjustastool. The stool responded instantly.
    Tipped back, and sipping, I scanned the bar. Was he here, in the crowd? Was he watching me for a reaction to his warning? The barchamber contained the usual tourists; an intense group of Carpoonian gas breathers, a bored bubblefoot from the Sirius System, a blatting trio of Outer Ring slimekids on school vacation, a tentacled matron from Oriana engaged in some shy orbplay with an overage pod salesman with wrinkled fleckers. The usual.
    I instantly dismissed the lot of them. My "friend" was elsewhere; I was inwardly certain of that. Maybe a member of the ship's crew.
    "Another triple, sir?" The bar robot hovered above me, a metal index finger poised over his drink spigot.
    "Nix," I said, slotting my credcard into his stomach and walking out. On the way, I passed the matron from Oriana and gave her a broad leer. She blanked her orbs and flushed purple. The pod salesman looked confused.
    * * *
     
    The remainder of the trip was routine. No more printed warnings. No threats of any kind. If I stayed aboard ship at the Antar stop I was okay.
    Only I didn't. I got off as planned. It takes more than a warning on a napkin to worry me. But I walked soft on Antar, expecting to be attacked.
    It was a backwater planet at the edge of one of the smaller systems. Breathable atmosphere, which was no surprise since many of the outer planets retain enough oxygen for us Earthfolk to breathe. And the natives were friendly. But I could smell trouble the way a Martian sandhound can smell dingoweed; I knew it was coming … but when? And where?
    A cab airdropped me at the edge of Antar's main citystrip. The address Iberia had given me was only a short pedrun from this drop point. It was late and the city domeglobes were dimmed. I used the outer pedtrack to keep free of shadows, one hand on my .38, which I'd switched to an inside pocket for quick action. The alertpill I'd swallowed before leaving the ship kept me at combat status, and I doubted that anyone or anything could surprise me.
    I stepped off the moving pedwalk and checked my address: Unit K-7, Lifebuilding 246. So far, so good. I took the flowsteps up to K, quick stepped to 7, and waited, knowing my body heat would activate the doorcall.
    The door whispered open, but no one was there to greet me. Just silence.
    I took out my .38, adjusted it to readyfire, and ducked inside. The unit was empty. No chairs. No table. No anything. Had Iberia been dumb enough to come up with a fake address knowing I'd put the U.T.E.B. on his neck?
    A soft hiss above my head fired my body muscles and I leaped sideways. But I wasn't quick enough. A hairy figure dropped, cat easy, from a ceiling slot, and before I could use the .38 both of my arms were pinned in a tight spiderlock.
    "You should pay more attention to your napkins, Mr. Space," Sonny told me. "In this session of harmonious physical activity I shall demonstrate how to kill an Earthling who is unwise enough to ignore good advice."
    I tried to twist free and got exactly nowhere.
    "First, it is necessary to disarm the