[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I'm not exactly broke, but this Major Daphne owned more planets than I
do golf balls. Whereas my mining interests were mostly on earth, the
Major got in early on the Centaurus grab. A whole generation later, all
I could stake out was one hot little hunk of tropical mud that no one
else would fool with.
Daphne liked to kid me about my "galactic empire" every time we
collided at the club. I was a bachelor and Daphne was married, but he
spent more time there than I.
He was a bear of a man with a bull-moose voice, the chest and shoulders
of an ape, the appetite of a goat and the morals of a rabbit. There
were few wealthier men in the system and none half so noisy about it.
His favorite approach to bragging was to tell of his interstellar
hunting expeditions.
It costs money to push even a private boat around out there, and nobody
but a fatheaded, ostentatious trillionaire would consider blowing half
a billion to shoot a brace of pink-eyed grouse, or travel a parsec to
blast a two-ton Lartizian lizard.
He nailed me one morning in the slime-bath at the club. I was soaking
out a hang-over and a few wrinkles in the filthy anti-biotic goo up in
health service, when Major Daphne charged in with a towel around his
fat middle and plunked down in the next vat. He splashed a gob of the
vile smelling green stuff in my face, and I cursed him out.
He bristled at me as he settled his bulk on the sunken stool, "Young
man," he growled, "profanity is the luxury of uneducated lackies and
foul-mouthed jackals. Which are you?"
"Splash me again and I'll come over and drown you in this snot," I told
him.
He squinted under his gray eyebrows and roared, "Oho! It's my
empire-builder friend! Say, when are we going hunting on that
free-floating pimple of yours?"
When are _we_ going hunting! He had never so much as bought me a drink,
and all of a sudden we were buddy-buddies. "What's the matter?" I said,
"run out of game on your private preserves?"
"Just looking for amusement, my boy, I've put a hole in a dozen of
every specie on 17 planets. Covered all my Centaurus holdings, but
never did get around to, to--what do you call that little spitwad of
yours?"
He sounded serious, and an idea popped into my head. "That little
spitwad is Tigursh II, and it happens to be the hottest big animal
planet in the system."
"Sounds gamey," he nodded. "Have you looked around it much?"
I had made only one trip to drop off a prospecting party on the north
polar plains. That was two years ago, and all the word I'd had since
was a couple of double-talking messages relayed from Centaurii III,
asking either double wages or immediate pickup and dismissal for the
whole party.
Sometime in the near future I must get out there and investigate
personally, but I had been stalling the trip to accumulate the liquid
assets it took to lease a ship and outfit from the main base on
Centaurii III.
"Been all over it," I lied. "It's not much for comfort, but it's hell
for targets. Some really big stuff out there." This last was true. In
the week I had spent on the edge of the grassy plateau I had seen a
number of herds of heavy-bodied four-leggers galumphing about.
"We'll make up a little party," the Major decided.
"Get yourself and your friends out to Centaurii III, and I'll provide a
small craft and the gear for the hop over to, to--what did you call it?"
"Tigursh II," I told him happily. This was what I had hoped. The
$80,000 passage out to the system I could afford, and with Daphne
footing the rest of the bill I would save myself quite a piece of
change.
"How many will be in your party?" he wanted to know. "I'll send word
ahead for suitable accommodations and supplies."
"I hunt light," I told him. "There'll be just me."
"Hmm. You must be nuts about the sport. You don't mind if I bring along
a little diversion?"
"It's your party," I reminded him, more to confirm that he was expected
to foot the bills than just to be agreeable.
"I'll keep my party small, too," he promised. "Just the wife and--a few
nieces."
* * * * *
The Major and his party were already gassed and crated when I arrived
at the space-deck for the big jump, so it wasn't until they pulled the
needle out of me on Daphne's planet at main base that I got a look at
his wife and _nieces_.
From that moment until we put down on Tigursh II, the shuttle trip was
one continuous party. Beside Daphne, there were Annellica, his legal
wife, and six variously-hued, large-breasted, slender-hipped young
women, each of different planetary origin and talents.
When we were gathered in the cushion-lined salon of the Major's "cosy",
200-foot hunting craft, he introduced them in two sections.
"My wife, Annellica," he said with a casual bow in her direction, "and
my nieces." His face brightened with pleasure as he regarded them
tumbled around on the billowing underfoot. Although their costumes were
of different colors, they were all of singularly identical design. They
wore one-piece dresses, demurely high-necked, puffed at the shoulders,
belted at the narrow waists--and that was all. The flounced skirts
stood out as if heavily starched, but they rippled and floated in the
diminished gravity with a most titivating effect.
Annellica wore pants.
I said I was charmed, but actually I was appalled, especially when the
Major explained. "I only brought along six nieces this trip. Three for
you and three for me."
Where, I wondered, did this leave Annellica? The ship lifted under us
without warning, and we tumbled about in a gay tangle of giggles and
heavy perfume--all but Annellica and me. We were thrown together, and
we lay on our sides motionless, nose to nose, staring into each other's
eyes.
"Hello," I said. She heaved herself up against the two-gee pressure
and leaned on an elbow regarding me with quiet, gray eyes. Her skin
was white, but it was still a relief when she answered in unaccented
Aminglish.
"Hello!" she answered. "Thank heavens you speak earth."
At our feet Daphne was tumbling up his galactic geishas with lusty
shouts of laughter and gabbling in six different dialects.
"Are you a linguist?" she asked. I shook my head, and she smiled for
the first time. "Good!" she exclaimed. "You'll get tired of that
bird-talk and pay some attention to me."
She sold herself short. Conversational boredom was the least likely
reason I would seek the company of this fabulous creature. Daphne was
completely engrossed with two wriggling, giggling extra-terrestrials at
the moment, so I rolled back and took in the rest of my hostess with an
indiscreet survey.
In gray slacks and high-neck T-shirt, she presented the ever pleasantly
mysterious enticement of the fully clothed female. Already my interest
in the nieces and their leggy displays faded in favor of the one
possibly forbidden morsel aboard.
I reached out to touch the unbelievable platinum hair, but she frowned
a warning. "Look, but don't touch," she said softly. I misunderstood,
but Daphne put me right on the subject. He was looking over at us.
"You're wasting your time," he called. "She's colder than a methane
popsickle. A real chip off of Jupiter. Let's eat, whadda ya say? Come,
Nelly, produce!"
Annellica sighed. "That belly of his! Life is one continuous
smorgasbord. Excuse me, Mr. Frost." She arose cautiously against the
double gravity, but even under these circumstances not a line of her
firm curves drooped excessively. She was, I guessed, early thirtyish,
judging from her mature manner, but she was firm and resilient as a
girl of 18.
* * * * *
The nieces had tired of scuffling in the heavier pull of out
acceleration and lay with their cunning costumes plastered to their
limp, moist bodies. The Major tried a few last tickles, but the
responses were unsatisfactory grunts of fatigue.
He hauled himself over to me. "Great girl, that Nellie. She's my
gunbearer. By the way, what weapons do you use?"
"Whatever you brought along," I said. "This is your show."
"Good, good! They ought to outlaw these nasty little nuclear side-arms.
No sport at all. I'm a powder and lead man, myself. Give me a good
rifle any day. Primitive but positive, if you know what you're doing."