"You swear you cannot account for the antidote?" said Commander Calvin.
His seriousness had overridden his rage now. "If that gets into the
hands of the dope ring and they know we have it, we'll never catch up
to them. It's possible that they don't have Markham's."
"I'm serious, Chief," said Roal. "I found the Starhouse last night.
I ate the antidote and submitted to a dose of the drug. It finally
knocked me out, but I know the antidote was a great help. Why I was
dumped in the desert, I don't know. But come with me right now and I'll
show you where Starhouse is. Why it should ever have become known as
the phantom tavern, I don't know. It's right down on Transite Street."
"You've been a good operator, Roal," said Calvin. "But I can't believe
a word you're saying. I know every dive on Transite. Starhouse is not
there, but to show you I trust you and want to believe this wild tale
I'll go with you right now and see what you have to show me."
They left the chrome and glass tower and descended into the core of
Heliopolis, deep into its rotten core that centered on Transite street.
Fumes of forbidden drugs drifted out into the streets from behind
shuttered doors and windows; loud, drunken laughter and shrill voices
spilled out even in midafternoon. Roal knew they must have passed a
dozen murderers in their walk from the monorail stop to the 800 block
Transite Street.
The dingy street looked just as it had the night before, except that
daylight was not so kind to the dives and houses as were the vargon
bulbs that lit the street at night.
There was Charley's Cafe, and Minna's Bar. The next was--no, it must be
the next one.
Roal halted. Beyond Minna's bar was a battered warehouse, a relic of
the days when Transite was a commercial street. The Jinx house was the
next dive.
Roal swore softly. "It was right here, last night. I swear it was,
Chief--and now--there's nothing but that old warehouse."
"Which has been there for thirty years," said Calvin.
"Yeah, I know it now, but last night it just seemed as if the Starhouse
belonged there, that it had been there all along. I don't understand
it. The Starhouse was here--it couldn't have been moved since last
night. Chief, it _was_ last night, wasn't it? Didn't I report in
yesterday?"
Commander Calvin nodded. "I'm afraid I know exactly what happened, boy.
You were on Transite Street, all right. But somehow they slipped you
the drug and stole the antidote before you had time to use it. Then
they found you were an SBI man and didn't dare kill you, so they dumped
you in the desert. All this tale about the Starhouse and the beautiful,
wondrous Queen of the Silver Stars is exactly the same tale that you
yourself have heard from a thousand starmen. You ought to know that it
was only induced by the drug."
For a moment Roal felt as if his mind were tottering. What if Commander
Calvin were right and all this were merely the result of an actual dose
of _harmeena_? He tried to think back, to retrace the events prior to
the time he had gone into the Starhouse. But he could remember nothing
except that he had gone directly from his hotel room for a walk along
Transite to see what business for the SBI might be turned up. And the
Starhouse had turned up right where this warehouse now stood. He would
stake his life and reputation on it.
He whirled suddenly on Calvin. "I know how I can prove it! That cape I
left in your office. Alayna touched it. If we can get her finger prints
off it--"
The Commander did not share Roal's enthusiasm, but he patiently
returned with Roal to the headquarters of the SBI. His own mind was
puzzled and distracted by the mystery of Starhouse. He didn't believe
Roal's story, but he didn't quite believe his own, either. He didn't
know what to believe.
Roal took the cape into the finger print laboratory. The operating
technician examined the collar at the point Roal remembered Alayna
grasping it impulsively.
"There're plenty of prints here," said the technician. "Let's see what
yours look like."
He examined Roal's fingers minutely, then turned back to the coat.
"There are some here that aren't yours, all right. Want pictures?"
Roal nodded. Calvin said, "It won't matter. Dozens of prints besides
yours might be there."
"Not in that exact place unless someone had fastened my cape about his
neck. And no one else had done that except--"
The Commander raised his eyebrows. "And how does it happen that this
alleged Queen of the Silver Stars had your cape on?"
"Nuts!" Roal knew he was being baited. "Send the prints to the
Identification Office and order a report sent direct to my office," he
told the technician.
* * * * *
The report would not be ready until morning. Roal went to the
physiological lab for a blood test in the hope his blood might betray
the presence of the drug and the antidote. That finished the day. In
the morning he had to wait impatiently until ten before the pictures
and report came in.
He tore the envelope and read:
_Memo to Hartford:_
"_The subject prints are those of one Mariana Sebours. Our files
give the following information concerning this person: Age, 23; Race
Terrestrian Caucasian; Height 5' 7"; Weight 125 lbs.; Hair, blonde;
Eyes, blue...._"
Detailed measurements, and skin and blood textures followed, but they
were not of immediate significance to Roal. The fact was that his cloak
bore the prints of someone named Mariana Sebours, and unless she and
Alayna were the same he didn't know how the prints came to be there.
This proved at least that his story was not the fiction or dream that
Calvin assumed it was.
Roal considered showing the report to the Commander, but there was more
to be done. The descriptive picture in the report fitted his memory
of Alayna, but a photograph would tell him for certain. He called
the Identification Office for a full report with pictures on Mariana
Sebours.
It came through on the televise about an hour later. He was waiting for
it.
"Hello, Roal?" said Tim Atkins, the identification clerk.
"Yes. What do you have?"
"I hope your interest in the Sebours girl is personal, rather than
business."
"Why?"
"Well, from her photos she'd be something worth having a personal
interest in. Except that she seems to have vanished."
"Give me the whole story. Where's the pix?"
"Coming up. Here you are. Mariana Sebours was born in the United
States. Her father is of French-Greek extraction and her mother was
American. Mariana herself had notable singing talent and made an
operatic debut at sixteen. She went up fast, but always seemed to
stop short of the top. For six years she was featured in opera houses
throughout the system, and did much concert work. She was listed with
the Brooks Agency here in Helio, but they haven't carried her on their
books for more than two years. She did a lot of concert work and was
last known in New York. Then there just isn't any more of Mariana
Sebours."
"What do you mean, there isn't any more? The records should carry
the last movement from place of residence. Everyone has to file that
information."
"That's just it. No transfer notice from New York was filed. The last
address has no record of her for over eighteen months. She's gone,
vanished, disappeared."
"All right. I'll wait for the pictures. You may have to do some
footwork on this case for me, so don't forget Mariana Sebours."
Even as Roal hung up the door opened and the messenger arrived with the
pictures. Roal ripped open the envelope and the prints spilled out.
Glossy, glamorous shots of a blonde opera diva slipped out onto the
desk. And one look told Roal what he wanted to know.
Mariana Sebours was Alayna, Queen of the Silver Stars, and her
fingerprints were on his cloak. His dream was not a dream. It was cold
reality. Except--
Where was the phantom tavern, Starhouse?