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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
LION
LOOSE
By JAMES H. SCHMITZ
_The most dangerous of animals is not the biggest and fiercest--but the one that's hardest to stop. Add intelligence to that ... and you may come to a wrong conclusion as to what the worst menace is...._
_Illustrated by Schoenherr_
* * * * *
For twelve years at a point where three major shipping routes of theFederation of the Hub crossed within a few hours' flight of oneanother, the Seventh Star Hotel had floated in space, a great goldensphere, gleaming softly in the void through its translucent shells ofbattle plastic. The Star had been designed to be much more than aconvenient transfer station for travelers and freight; for some yearsafter it was opened to the public, it retained a high rating amongthe more exotic pleasure resorts of the Hub. The Seventh Star Hotelwas the place to have been that season, and the celebrities and fatcats converged on it with their pals and hangers-on. The Star blazedwith life, excitement, interstellar scandals, tinkled with streams ofcredits dancing in from a thousand worlds. In short, it had startedout as a paying proposition.
But gradually things changed. The Star's entertainment remained asdelightfully outrageous as ever, the cuisine as excellent; theaccommodations and service were still above reproach. The fleecing, ingeneral, became no less expertly painless. But one had _been_ there.By its eighth year, the Star was dated. Now, in its twelfth, it livedsoberly off the liner and freighter trade, four fifths of the guestsuites shut down, the remainder irregularly occupied between shipdepartures.
And in another seven hours, if the plans of certain men went through,the Seventh Star Hotel would abruptly wink out of existence.
* * * * *
Some fifty or sixty early diners were scattered about the tables onthe garden terraces of Phalagon House, the Seventh Star Hotel's mostexclusive eatery. One of them had just finished his meal, sat smokingand regarding a spiraling flow of exquisitely indicated female figuresacross the garden's skyscape with an air of friendly approval. He wasa large and muscular young man, deeply tanned, with shoulders ofimpressive thickness, an aquiline nose, and dark, reflective eyes.
After a minute or two, he yawned comfortably, put out the cigarette,and pushed his chair back from the table. As he came to his feet,there was a soft bell-note from the table ComWeb. He hesitated, said,"Go ahead."
"Is intrusion permitted?" the ComWeb inquired.
"Depends," the guest said. "Who's calling?"
"The name is Reetal Destone."
He grinned, appeared pleasantly surprised. "Put the lady through."
There was a brief silence. Then a woman's voice inquired softly,"Quillan?"
"Right here, doll! Where--"
"Seal the ComWeb, Quillan."
He reached down to the instrument, tapped the seal button, said, "Allright. We're private."
"Probably," the woman's voice said. "But better scramble this, too. Iwant to be very sure no one's listening."
Quillan grunted, slid his left hand into an inner coat pocket, brieflyfingered a device of the approximate size and shape of a cigarette,drew his hand out again. "Scrambling!" he announced. "Now, what--"
"Mayday, Quillan," the soft voice said. "Can you come immediately?"
Quillan's face went expressionless. "Of course. Is it urgent?"
"I'm in no present danger. But we'd better waste no time."
"Is it going to take real hardware? I'm carrying a finger gun at themoment."
"Then go to your rooms and pick up something useful," Reetal said."This should take real hardware, all right."
"All right. Then where do I go?"
"I'll meet you at your door. I know where it is."
When Quillan arrived, she was standing before the door to his suite, atall blonde in a sleeveless black and gold sheath; a beautiful body, awarm, lovely, humorous face. The warmth and humor were real, butmasked a mind as impersonally efficient as a computer, and a taste forhigh and dangerous living. When Quillan had last met Reetal Destone, ayear and a half before, the taste was being satisfied in industrialespionage. He hadn't heard of her activities since then.
She smiled thoughtfully at him as he came up. "I'll wait outside," shesaid. "We're not talking here."
Quillan nodded, went on into his living room, selected a gun belt andholstered gun from a suitcase, fastened the belt around his waistunder the coat, and came out. "Now what?"
"First a little portal-hopping--"
He followed her across the corridor and into a tube portal, watched asshe tapped out a setting. The exit light flashed a moment later; theystepped out into a vacant lounge elsewhere in the same building,crossed it, entered another portal. After three more shifts, theyemerged into a long hall, dimly lit, heavily carpeted. There was noone in sight.
"Last stop," Reetal said. She glanced up at his face. "We're on theother side of the Star now, in one of the sections they've closed up.I've established a kind of emergency headquarters here. The Star'snearly broke, did you know?"
"I'd heard of it."
"That appears to be part of the reason for what's going on."
Quillan said, "What's going on?"
Reetal slid her arm through his, said, "Come on. That's my, hm-m-m,unregistered suite over there. Big boy, it's very, very selfish of me,but I was extremely glad to detect your name on the list of newlyarrived guests just now! As to what's going on ... the _Camelot_berths here at midnight, you know."
Quillan nodded. "I've some business with one of her passengers."
Reetal bent to unlock the entrance door to the indicated suite. "Theway it looks now," she remarked, "the odds are pretty high that you'renot going to keep that appointment."
"Why not?"
"Because shortly after the _Camelot_ docks and something's beenunloaded from her, the _Camelot_ and the Seventh Star Hotel arescheduled to go _poof!_ together. Along with you, me, and some twelvethousand other people. And, so far, I haven't been able to think of agood way to keep it from happening."
Quillan was silent a moment. "Who's scheduling the poof?" he asked.
"Some old acquaintances of ours are among them. Come on in. Whatthey're doing comes under the heading of destroying the evidence."
* * * * *
She locked the door behind them, said, "Just a moment," went over tothe paneled wall, turned down a tiny silver switch. "Room portal," shesaid, nodding at the wall. "It might come in handy. I keep it turnedoff most of the time."
"Why are you turning it on now?" Quillan asked.
"One of the Star's stewards is working on this with me. He'll be alongas soon as he can get away. Now I'll give you the whole thing asbriefly as I can. The old acquaintances I mentioned are some boys ofthe Brotherhood of Beldon. Movaine's here; he's got Marras Cooms andFluel with him, and around thirty of the Brotherhood's top guns. NomeLancion's coming in on the _Camelot_ in person tonight to take charge.Obviously, with all that brass on the job, they're after somethingvery big. Just what it is, I don't yet know. I've got one clue, but arather puzzling one. Tell you about that later. Do you know Velladon?"
"The commodore here?" Quillan nodded. "I've never met him but I knowwho he is."
Reetal said, "He's been manager of the Seventh Star Hotel for
the pastnine years. He's involved in the Beldon outfit's operation. So is thechief of the Star's private security force--his name's Ryter--and halfa dozen other Star executives. They've got plenty of firepower, too;close to half the entire security force, I understand, including allthe officers. That would come to nearly seventy men. There's reason tobelieve the rest of the force was disarmed and murdered by them in thesubspace section of the Star about twelve hours ago. They haven't beenseen since then.
"Now, Velladon, aside from his share in whatever they're after, hasanother