Space For Hire (Seven For Space) Read Online Free PDF Page B

vidwire and was told it had arrived in Bubble City on schedule. Which surprised me. Next, I piped the number Esma had given me for Dr. Umani's lab unit on Mars — and was amazed to hear him answer.
    "Yassah, boss. Somebody wanna gab wif dis ole black man?"
    Obviously, he was still inside the jazz singer's body.
    "Doctor, it's me, Sam Space. I thought they'd have harmed you by now."
    "No, I'm quite healthy despite your ineptitude," growled Umani, reverting to his normal voice. "The coldpac shipment arrived on time — no thanks to you — and Esma is now de-icing a hard-drinking Scottish highlander for me to occupy. I'll be slipping into him as soon as she's ready."
    "That's it!"
    "What's it?"
    "That explains why they didn't try to destroy the shipment. I'm certain the Scottish highlander is booby-trapped. I'd stake my rep on it. Probably rigged with some type of self-destruct mechanism. No doubt they've booby-trapped the entire lot. Once your brain is placed in anyone of those bodies you're a dead duck."
    "I fear you may be right, Mr. Space."
    "So stay inside the NewOld New Orleans jazz singer until fresh bodies can be sent to you. I'll be with the next shipment. But first I've got to hop over to Saturn on a lead. Can you sit tight for a while until I contact you?"
    "Well, I would imagine so," grumped Umani, "but I do need to climb into a man who drinks more." Then his voice softened. "Still, I really enjoy strumming a banjo — and this is the only body I've had which can do that."
    "Fine. Stay inside it and keep strumming. And be sure Esma sticks with you. My guess is your enemies won't try anything else at the moment. They'll be waiting for you to make a brain jump into a rigged coldpac. Which gives me some working time."
    "Do you have a line on who they are?" he wanted to know.
    I gulped. "Don't you know who's been trying to kill you?"
    "I received a faxnote three Earth weeks ago demanding that I cease work on my experiment or I would not live to continue it. There was no full signature. Simply an initial."
    "Was that initial an ‘F'?"
    "Yes, it was. How did you —"
    "I don't have time to go into it now. Every minute we waste talking cuts down my advantage. I think this F. is the character we want. He murdered an Earthgirl and had me sent into another universe. That's why I missed your shipment. While I was gone he doctored the bodies."
    "Well, it sho nuff soun' lak you has gots de right party," rasped Dr.
    Umani, slipping back into his heavy dialect.
    "I'll be in touch," I promised.
    "Yassah!" he declared. "An dis hyar ole darkie be rights hyar when you wants him."
    I piped off and booked a warper for Saturn.
    * * *
     
    The ride out was quick and easy.
    As an Earthman, I'm proud of what our human scientists have accomplished but you can't knock the Martians and the Venusians who really got the ball rolling on warps and hyperspace jumps. And they started long before my time. Hell, even when I was a tad in Old Chicago you could get anywhere in the System in an Earth-day — and it's been cut a lot since then. I took my first solo space lark on Mercury when I was thirteen (with a little gal from Ganymede who knew how to use her nobbles) — and I was exploring Pluto at twenty.
    It's a big universe. But it's been cut down to size.
    I had to switch ships at Titan, taking a slower penetration shuttle to the surface of Saturn.
    Domehive was a fairly large city with three or four million solar inhabitants at least, and I had my work cut out for me. Where — and what — was F.? For all I knew, he could be a sixteen-foot Uranian with vented mandibles or a gas-breather from the inner asteroids with transparent tentapods. Whoever he was, he was a sour number and totally ruthless. Which spells danger in anybody's universe.
    I'd once tackled a case involving a pork stuffer from Proxima Centauri who'd run off with a multifem from Capella. The multifem's bedmate wanted me to trace her. When I caught up with them the pork stuffer