Mike turned his scowl on Nicko and snapped, "For Christ's sake, speak
Terran!"
Nicko had inadvertently used a Plutonian hill dialect he'd heard once,
this being the hideous little Martian's amazing talent--an instinctive
grasp of all tongues. His lingual talents were a tremendous asset to
Mike but at times they drove him crazy because Nicko might
absent-mindedly use several different tongues during a conversation;
some of which he could not classify himself, having forgotten where he
heard them.
"I said he had you pegged. He knew you were ready to turn him down so
he upped with the mool. He knew once you touched the yellow you'd be
his pup."
"I'm not so damned sure about that--"
Mike Mallison was a big game guide--a life he loved. He was a man of
action and asked nothing better than the perils of his calling; the
stalking of the great Plutonian ice bears; crouching in a Venusian
swamp waiting for the ten-ton lizards to blow slime a hundred feet in
the air and rise from their lava-hot beds; matching wits with the
telepathic Uranian rock wolves, the most elusive beast in the
universe; setting his sights on a Martian jet-bat so some Terran
millionaire could have a new trophy for his game room.
"You're not sure," Nicko was saying in Ganymedian French, "but you'll
stay glued to the mool."
Mike was busy thinking and didn't ask for a translation. After all, he
needed the money and if he didn't take it these two deluded characters
would no doubt find someone who would.
"Besides," Nicko said in Terran, "the female's a dream. The legs--the
torso--very nice to be in space with."
"Shut up! This is a business trip! Remember that. Exactly the same as
though we were hauling a couple of fat Terran bankers."
"Sure. But that kitty's got more in the bank than--"
"Get the hell out of here! Go over to the Exchange and see if our new
pile came in on that ship."
* * * * *
Outer Port was a man-made satellite artificially oxygenated and
gravitated. It was the largest of a group assembled during the
experimental period of the late twenty-first century. Later, methods
of shifting asteroids and small planets into desired orbits were
developed and the construction of space globes and platforms was
discontinued.
At that time, the Interplanetary Guild of Space Guides purchased the
satellite and moored it on the perimeter of the System to serve as a
headquarters for their activities. They smashed a bottle of wine on it
and christened it Outer Port after which every guide got drunk by way
of celebration.
It was a bleak establishment. With no solar supplement, it lay in the
eternal twilight of far space, the artificial heat of its surface
rising against eternal cold thus causing a perpetual fogging of its
atmosphere mixture.
So when the _Space Queen_ blasted fifteen hours later, Doree Brandon
brightened perceptibly. Professor Brandon remained in the lounge.
Nicko was aft, watching the tube primers. Doree was with Mike in the
control cabin.
"Getting used to Nicko?" Mike asked.
Doree smiled. "I owe him an apology. He is--" She looked up suddenly.
"He is _he_, isn't he?"
Mike laughed. "Nicko is male. Beyond that point he's hard to
classify."
"That odd face! Those green scales! The four arms were a little
difficult to get used to but now I think he's--well, kind of cute."
"Good for you."
"Where did you ever find him?"
"On Mars. I'll tell you about it sometime. Right now I've got to
finish setting our primary course."
"I imagine you'd like the exact location of the planet as soon as
possible."
"No great hurry. Any time in the next twelve hours will do. Just a
matter of pin-pointing the arc of the basic course. Your father didn't
appear to feel too well when we blasted. How is he now?"
"He's been under a terrific strain. Perhaps we could let him rest
awhile."
* * * * *
Mike turned on her sharply. "Listen--I'm going to ask you a straight
question and I'd like a straight answer. Does that planet really
exist?"
Her eyes widened, her head came up dangerously; and Mike noted this
made her extremely attractive. "Now wait a minute. Don't get sore.
I'm not implying your father doesn't _believe_ it's there. And after
all, I've taken your money, so its a deal but--"
She almost smiled. "You just think that perhaps he's an impractical
old dreamer with delusions."
"I didn't say that."
There was a pause while Doree evidently decided not to get angry. "I
assure you, Mr. Mallison, I believe with all my heart that father's
planet is exactly where he will direct you. Of course nothing is
certain in this universe, but--"
Mike grinned and held out his hand. "I believe you. Accept my apology.
And please call me Mike. We're going to see a lot of each other for a
while."
She took his hand and smiled back. Their eyes held and Mike liked what
he saw--pert elfin features; shining chestnut hair; even white teeth.
"We'll let your father rest a while," Mike said. "I'll get the figures
from him later."
* * * * *
But he was fated never to get the location of the planet from the old
scientist. In fact, he was never again to see Professor Brandon in the
confines of the _Space Queen_.
He finished setting primary course and then Nicko returned to report.
"Everything grooved. Temp up. Color down. Tubes solid. Primers
closed."
Nicko spoke in four languages. Doree, who understood two of them,
gasped.
Nicko grinned. "Thought I was a mental void, eh, kitty? Why I can spit
dialects you never heard of."
"Cut it out, Nicko. Treat our clients with a little more respect or
I'll pry a few scales off your back."
"Okay, but those legs--that torso."
Mike whirled and Nicko bounced out of the cabin. "You've got to know
him. He's completely loyal and he'd die ten times for any one of us.
But he never learned tact."
"I don't know why you had to cut him off so abruptly." Doree was
indignant.