The Vulcan Disaster

As she turned to lead me inside the huge teak door, I could see her back was a mass of fresh scars from a recent whipping.

My mouth pursed to whistle softly, but it was so dry I couldn’t make a sound. I followed the strange girl with the strange, whipped-dog demeanor inside the room. Her soft soles made no sound on the teak flooring.

A voice said: “You may go now.” Not “Thank you, you may go now.” Just “You may go now.” You don’t thank chattels. Pets. Slaves.

I looked around.

I picked her out of a nest of silk cushions. She was, I decided, pretty enough. That much I had already made out from the two long-distance glimpses Td got of her in street clothes. Now she wore a transparent blouse and pants, her nipples gleaming through the gauze with the gold paint she’d put on them. Gold flashed from rings on her fingers and toes, from a jewel in her bellybutton and a diamond gleaming in one pierced nostril.

Her voice was languid, full of drugs. “Ah, Mr. Archer. Come over here and let me have a look at you...”

Chapter Twenty-One

The questions started out being about astrological lore, and at first I thought I had trouble coming, because they sounded like knowledgeable questions. Gradually, though, I came to the conclusion that whatever it was that she was on, opium, acid or whatever, it was calling the tune. She’d listen to the first two words or so of whatever answer I managed to think up, for tone, and then her mind would start wandering.

While I answered, I had a good, long look at her. The lady was handsome enough; if you’re rich enough you can always hire someone to keep the body in presentable shape if it had anything to start with, and she’d started out okay. The face, too, was pretty enough, in the way Mediterranean women are pretty — dark, eyes almost black, strong nose — but that face and that body were inhabited by something creepy and crawly out of some science fiction movie.

My mind was running fast. I knew my limitations. There are very few things I will not do for AXE. I’m still playing it by ear. But if it meant making love to this stoned-out sea monster... I was casting about madly for ideas. There was one possibility.

“Say,” I said, “I’m a little tense, uptight, you know. Would it be possible to come up with a little something to put in the coffee? Something nice and kicky? Or maybe a nice soothing downer?” I gave her my Harry Archer smile.

Her jeweled hand touched mine; it was cold. Wow, I thought, you sure don’t need any more of anything. “Certainly,” her blurred husky voice said, thick with downers already. “Here. Try a little of this.” And her other hand handed me a little vial. “Nice,” she said. “Very nice.” Her hand, with its gilt nails, lingered on mine a moment. I shuddered; she brought chills. Her deep voice whispered, “Laudanum.”

“Mmmmm,” I said. I kept her eyes on mine, smiling my fortune-teller smile, as I cracked the little vial and poured enough of the stuff into one cup to knock out an elephant Laudanum? Just what the doctor ordered. I reached down and picked up the other cup — hers — and raised it to my lips, keeping her gaze locked. I made a nice appreciative face... and swallowed.

For God’s sake, I thought. She’s already doped her own coffee. The switch hadn’t done me a damn bit of good. I put the coffee down with a faltering hand. The room was swimming. “Hey,” I said, “that’s strong stuff.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she said. Her face went out of focus. The lights near the ceiling were going round and round. “Here, darling, why don’t you get a little more comfortable.” She reached over and untied my tie.

“Hey,” I said, “I...” But the world was spinning like an out-of-control carousel. Her hands shoved the coat off my shoulders, pinning my arms. “Just let me get my bearings...”

I blanked out.

When I awoke — it couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes later — I was in my shorts, and the lady, a dull gleam in her eye, was trying to part me from those. “That was marvelous,” I said. “This, I can see, is going to be quite an evening.”

“It certainly is, my darling,” she said. I was stretched out on the pillows and she was kneeling above me, the gilt paint on her large nipples gleaming through the gauze. “This will be a night to remember. See?”

And her hand pulled something out from under the coverlet and ran it quickly across my chest. Something cold. I looked down. There was a thin line of my own bright red blood bisecting me just above the bandage, just below the collarbone. Then I saw the razor-sharp little knife in her hand, coming toward me again. I rolled away from her; her hand caught me and held me. I was still weak and woozy from the dope.

“No,” she said. “Don’t resist me. That’s an order. I...” And that knife headed for my face.