Read S.T.A.R. FLIGHT for Free Online Page B

stand a little more water?”
    “You know where the tap is,” said Preston. He turned up the sound as the music died away. “Get set for the payoff,” he warned. “It should be along pretty soon now.”
    The music ended; the smiling face of the doctor returned. “Now,” he said. “The machine has finished its measurements and the therapy has been determined. To understand what follows you must realize that certain chemical actions take place immediately. The old woman is also under subjective time — that is, a week to her is a minute to us. But why should we worry about details? See now a modern miracle!”
    Music, soft, compelling. A swirl of colour spiraling to a central focal point. Mists of blue, red and green thinned,dissolved. A crone, bent, horrible, stood in the centre of an eye-guiding mesh of lines. Vapour coiled about her feet. Slowly she raised her head. Parchment tight over a living skull, eyes black holes in yellowed bone, lips like an old wound.
    Ed made a soft mewing sound.
    The crone changed! As they watched the face filled, smoothed, eyes shone where holes had been. The body lifted, swelled, threw back proud shoulders. Hair flowed from the skull, the lips blossomed, the cheeks softened into curves of tender promise.
    Cherry Lee, young, radiant, naked and womanhood personified, smiled with heart-twisting triumph.
    “And all this,” murmured a persuasive voice, “can be yours for a mere two thousand galactic units. This new, wonderful exhilarating rejuvenation for as little as a unit a week. Start young and save yourself happiness. From midnight tonight the treatment will be available to all.”
    The screen died. Shaking, Preston stared at his friend. Ed coughed, refusing to meet his eyes.
    “Did you get it?” demanded Preston savagely. “Did it register?”
    “Two thousand,” muttered Ed. He looked broken, forlorn. “Two thousand,” he said again. “Man, I can’t even raise one.”
    “The payoff,” said Preston. He rose, began to pace the floor of the tiny apartment. Three short steps, turn, three short steps, turn. He swore as he cannoned into the sink-unit, slamming it back into its niche in the wall. “Two thousand,” he said. “Double!”
    “What you going to do?” asked Ed. He stared at the percolator, forgetting his previous need for more coffee.
    “I don’t know.” Preston clenched his hands, thinking. Martin had told him not to worry, that his money was safe, and Martin wouldn’t lie. But two thousand instead of one? He was over sixty, still healthy but how long would that last? If Martin was only here, could give him that thousand nowso he could get it before midnight …
    “Where’re you going?” said Ed.
    “Come on.” Preston jerked on his coat. “I’ve got to save Martin what I can,” he explained. “The cash is safe, I know that, but I can’t get it without his say-so.” But, he thought, Martin has a partner. He knows me. If I sign a note he’ll let me have it for sure. “Come on,” he said again. “Hurry!”

FIVE

    Charles Denbow gave a final loving polish to the Borgia ring and replaced it carefully in its nest of scarlet velvet. Satisfied, he looked around his shop. The late afternoon sun was just hitting the window and he wondered whether or not to draw the blind. He decided against it. The fading power of the sun would be restricted to the brief time of less than an hour but it was just when the street was at its busiest and customers most probable. He compromised by taking the Japanese prints and the Chinese embroideries from the window, replacing them with a Spanish shawl and a half-dozen items of lesser worth. The prints and embroideries he scattered over a showcase as if he had just been displaying them for a customer’s appreciation. Front, he thought. In this business it’s all-important. It’s not what you sell but how you sell it. The personal touch, he told himself, is as important as the antique.
    He turned as the bell jangled over