Read Space For Hire (Seven For Space) for Free Online Page A

public, so I had to jimmy the door. At least I wouldn't have to worry about customers.
    It was black inside with the dome windows zipped but I had a flash-pointer with me and used that to case the unit.
    F.'s office was richly furnished in a neo-classic skin motif. The desk was topped in Earth zebra. The couch was covered in Martian zeebskin, and the high-backed chairs shimmered hypnotically, upholstered in cured Venusian rainbeast. I figured if F. knew what I was up to at the moment he'd enjoy adding my skin to the collection.
    I still had no idea what the unit contained, or what type of business F. conducted. Everything was neat and tidy, with no visible clues as to what game F. played here. The desk was my best bet. It was big, with several flowdrawers on each side. I placed my flash on the zebra-striped desktop and leaned to jimmy the first drawer. But I didn't finish — because suddenly my flash was knocked to the floor and extinguished. I spun around, blind, and got caught along the jaw with a blow that nearly snapped my head off. I was on my knees, half-stunned, when I got kicked in the stomach, hard. Normally, this would have had me retching and in no condition to retaliate but using the Pluto deep-breathe method I had drum-tightened my abdominal muscles and the kick was not effective. I lashed out with stiffened fingers and connected with flesh. A startled human grunt told me we were on even terms: my enemy was an Earthling.
    Could this be F. — striking at me from the darkness? If so, why hadn't he used a weapon? What did he expect to gain out of keeping me alive? These questions whipped through my mind as I felt a steel-hard arm encircle my neck and jerk me savagely backward into the wall.
    I countered with a kneedip half-reverse twist he hadn't been expecting which allowed me to skin free of the armhold.
    Time to take the offensive!
    I pivoted and sliced my left knee into his body at what I judged to be gut level, heard another loud grunt of pain, and was in the midst of a follow-up hammerkick when he used a Mercury fadeaway on me. My foot jabbed empty air.
    So. This boy was a pro, who seemed to know as much about specialized Solar combat as I did. Which was plenty.
    We circled each other slowly in the darkness. I'd lost my .38 during the scuffle, so I was now depending on my trained hands and feet. They were, however, as deadly as any .38 in the System!
    More wary circling. My eyes, having adjusted to the pitch, picked out a bulky moving form, black against black — and I charged in to deliver a fierce Uranian elbow slash that rocked my opponent.
    We grappled, close-quarter style. I felt tough human fingers close around my throat, cutting off my air. I stiff-palmed his wrists, breaking the stranglehold.
    Now I was desperate; this character could put me away if I didn't act fast.
    It wasn't easy. He used a Betelgeuse downchop and my left arm went dead! I back-stepped abruptly away from a hard right lopper which could have decked me.
    I put the desk between us to give my arm time to renew itself. The dark form feinted left but I knew the gambit and avoided contact. The blood was beginning to sing in my crippled arm; I flexed my elbow, my fingers.
    A solidly-thrown punch caught me under the ribs as I came around the desk, both my arms in working condition again. I jabbed a quick left elbow into his chest and topped it with a crossover right to the head.
    I had him! He was off-balance when I slammed a one-two combination into him, my right fist connecting solidly with jawbone. My enemy fell abruptly away from me. He was down, finished.
    The battle was over.
    Breathing raggedly, exhausted from the killing encounter, I fumbled in the dark for my flash, found it and activated the cone — picking up my .38 in the process.
    Had I captured the infamous Mr. F? I was anxious to see what he looked like, beyond being human.
    The bright cone of the flash cut through the pitch and steadied on a face. I let out a yowl. I