Bloodhype by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

disposing of the remaining body, things had been pretty much cleared up. He was curious to know what a slimeworm like Rose might have transshipped from a place as dull and straitlaced as Largess. Dull enough, obviously, to cause him to send two men to break into a government-owned warehouse and crack a private shipment to find.
    He had an uncomfortable moment as he bent to look into the opened casing. Suppose the small paracred had pulled one on him and the crate was full of nothing but small blue boxes? He could have saved the worry. There was only one blue container in sight. As the man had described, it was unmarked and small. About 10 cms by 20 by 20, with a slightly concave top. It was packed solidly among other containers of myriad shapes, sizes, and colors. He vaguely remembered the crate as being full of class-C luxury goods. A diverse collection.
    The small case was half out of its assigned spot, indicating that the would-be thieves had discovered it just as he’d arrived. He entertained brief thoughts of leaving it untouched. Mal had had occasional dealings with Rose in the past. The old man had accrued a certain amount of power. Although on a major planet he would have to strive to be noticed, on Repler he could wield a definite amount of heft. He stayed just the right side of legal, meaning he paid taxes.
    Mal was a little surprised when the small box opened with the merest touch of the laser. It might be a trick. One device many people used to protect valuables was not to protect them at all but to give the impression of their not being valuable. Once the initial cut was made, the plastic rolled back easily enough. A sturdy case of some silvery metal was revealed beneath. He lifted it out of its plastic casing and held it up to the dim warehouse lighting. It was attractively engraved, although clearly machine-cut. The decorative etchings cut into the metal were recognizably Largessian. A modest thing, certainly. Hardly worth the expensive and highly illegal efforts of two men to recover secretly.
    There was a simple combination lock and snaplatch on the box. He could have used the laser, but if it proved necessary to repair the box, a simple break would be easier to explain than a meltcut. The latch snapped on the third tug, just as he was beginning to fear that it was stronger than it looked and that he might have to use the pistol after all.
    The cover sprang back to reveal ten bottles of a slightly greenish cast. Each bottle of cut crystal was filled with a different colored powder. On the inside of the box cover was a printed key. It located the bottles below and gave their contents in thranx, terranglo, symbo-speech, and formal largo:
    These special spices have been carefully selected by the professional staff of Sirial Foods, Inc., to add exotic and tasteful seasoning to any organic vegetable dish with a cellulose content of at least 90%. Exceptions and/or maximum recommended servings for . . .
    There followed a comprehensive list of races and species, with specialized information for each spice printed inside a small booklet resting on top of the bottles. This went into detail on which being could consume what spice and in what quantity, with effects varying from unappetizing and mildly corrosive at worst to aphrodisiacal at best. The multi-lingual instructions indicated that the contents were marketed over a wide section of the Commonwealth and perhaps even outside it. If the machined box was any indication, the spices were a high-volume item. But that didn’t jibe with its being shipped as a luxury good. Still, maybe the old man was primates for Largessian spices and wanted to insure their arrival.
    He tasted the contents of the first jar, after first consulting the book to make sure it contained nothing likely to take his feet off. The dark-maroon granules had a sweet-sharp tang, an intriguing cross between ground black pepper and white mint.
    Mal considered what to do. Obviously he could sit and taste