Read Where the Ships Die for Free Online

though... a fact not lost on a seventeen-year-old male. The woman noticed and smiled. "What's your name?"
    Dorn decided on the truth. The decision paid off. "Voss ... Dorn Voss."
    The woman raised a well-plucked eyebrow. "Really? Of the same family that owns Voss Lines?"
    Dorn nodded modestly. "I'm their son."
    The woman extended her hand. A serpent had wrapped itself around her forearm. It had gold skin and ruby red fangs. They were only inches away as her hand entered his. "Welcome to the Cantina Roja. My name's Carmen. I own the place."
    "Pleased to meet you," Dorn replied politely, forcing his eyes up and away from her breasts. "When does the cantina open? I enjoy the occasional game of cards."
    Miss Carmen noted the expensive clothes, the chroncomp on the boy's wrist, and arrived at the logical conclusion. The young man was a playboy, the son of shipowning parents, who fancied himself a player but lost vast quantities of money wherever he landed. Money she could use. A ship had arrived earlier, and he'd been on it. Her tongue slid across her lips. "We open at nine. Where are you staying? I'll send my car."
    Dorn felt his spirits rise. This was more like it! "The Starman's Rest."
    Miss Carmen nodded. "Excellent. My car will arrive at eight forty-five. I can't promise—but there's a chance that my regulars will allow you to play."
    Dorn thanked the woman, left the cantina, and started the long walk back. A nap might be in order once he arrived. A long, profitable night lay ahead.

4
    There is no greater evil than that practiced by parents on their offspring.
    Author unknown
    Dromo Book of Admonitions
    Date unknown
    The Planet Mechnos
    Carnaby Orr, sole proprietor of Orr Enterprises, industrialist par excellence, and recipient of honors too numerous to mention, held the yellow ducky over the tub and allowed it to fall. Water splashed, and his son laughed delightedly.' 'Do it again, Daddy! Do it again!"
    Orr smiled indulgently and did it again. Jason giggled happily, grabbed the duck, and pushed it under the soapsuds. The toy toured the bottom of the tub, then popped to the surface. The industrialist watched for a moment, then got to his feet. Jason laughed and splashed water over the duck. "Come on, son ... it's time to get dressed. The doctors are waiting."
    "I don't want any doctors," the little boy said petulantly. "I feel fine."
    "Of course you do," Orr replied patiently, "but everyone needs to have a checkup from time to time. Come now, out of the tub, and grab a towel."
    It took twenty-five minutes to towel Jason dry, put his clothes on, and head downstairs. The staircase curved around a null-gravity well. A three-dimensional model of the Confederacy floated at its center. Stars were represented by balls of light. Planets boasted the correct number of satellites, cloud cover appropriate to the time of year, and precisely calculated orbits.
    As chance would have it, 90% of the habitable planets were distributed along a barbell-shaped pattern. That being the case most of the Confederacy's population was located toward the ends. Transportation, plus a limited number of intense gravitational fields known as wormholes, made it possible for opposite ends of the barbell to trade with each other. Wormholes, also called "warps," enabled ships to take what amounted to a short cut from one end of the Confederacy to the other, or, in the case of warps known as "enders," to destinations from which no one had ever returned. Red lights identified each planet where Orr Enterprises had holdings of 50 million credits or more. There were hundreds of them.
    "Carnaby, is that you?" The voice belonged to Orr's wife and had a sweet, vacant quality.
    "Yes, dear," Orr replied patiently, "it's us. Jason had his bath and we're headed for the clinic. It's time for his six-month checkup."
    Melanie Orr met husband and son at the foot of the staircase. She was beautiful but not especially conscious of it. She wore a white top with short sleeves