Look Out For Space (Seven For Space) by William F Nolan Read Free Book Online Page B

spotted the Church right off. As tall as old St. Pat's. Vaulting arches. Flying buttresses. A real landmark. Made of quick-erect tentstone, but durable looking.
    He dropped me onto the pedway next to the front entrance and zoomed off without thanking me for the tip. It figured. A lev never thanked anybody for anything — but they sure love to gab.
    The Saints were having a Major Conversion that afternoon and the place was packed with religious zealots. A flush-faced female tried to get friendly.
    "I've had three minor conversions," she told me, "but this is my first major. Isn't it enchanting?"
    I told her I was enchanted and edged away from her, deeper into the crowd, moving toward the main altar, passing a robed glostatue of Collingo. I had to admit the thing was impressive. Life size, supposedly. Which meant he was eight feet six inches in height. There had to be a gimmick.
    And there was.
    When Collingo, the Head Saint, stepped onto the altar, I could see he was wearing stiltsoles, adapted from the old 21st century carny days when it helped the con to be taller than the rubes.
    The crowd murmured, then fell silent as Collingo raised his hands.
    His robes were stitched with Body Ads: "Use Hollowell's Holy Oil in Your Classic Crankcase! It's the Finest!" …"House Hunters! Visit Happy Bob's Blessed Acres for Celestial Bargains on Real Estate!" …"Heavenly Stock Market Tips! Let a Saint Guide You to Financial Security!" … The usual body hype.
    His eyes burned with Godfire under deep brows and his multicolored globeard vibrated as he spoke: "Brothers … Sisters … Geeks … Are you ready for Conversion?"
    "Yes!" In chorus. "We are ready!"
    Seemed I was the only non-convert in the bunch.
    "Well, then …" intoned Collingo, " … let the ceremony begin !"
    The hypnowall of the church behind the altar began to whirl and flicker with glowing patterns of light and I ducked my head. I wasn't ready for a Saint's brainwash and I knew if I looked at that wall for more than a few seconds I'd be ripe for any line Collingo was ready to lay out.
    So I looked at my toes while the wall did its job on the rubes.
    After a few more seconds, Collingo's voice rang out: "Feel God's power feeding into your brains … open your body cells to the power of Sainthood — and repeat after me …"
    "We will repeat!"
    His voice became a powerhouse of emotion: "I will buy Hollowell's Holy Oil."
    They said that.
    "I will visit Happy Bob's Blessed Acres for Celestial Bargains!"
    They said that, too.
    "I will treat my children to Uncle Harley's Heavenly Fudge Bars!"
    Well, you get the drift. He was doing a mass sell on these crackers and, after socking another half dozen products into their brainpans, he switched off the wall, brought them out of their trance and told them they were converted.
    They filed out, dizzy with celestial joy, while two other Saints collected donations at the door.
    I stepped behind the altar where a Saint ducked out to stop me."Sorry, citizen, but this is sacred territory."
    I didn't bother to argue; I just cold-cocked him with my .38 and went on.
    Collingo was in the Holy Room doffing his glorobes for a common streetsuit. Out of his stiltsoles he was a runty five seven.
    "Great show," I told him. "I'd say you've really got the calling. Does God get a rakeoff, or do you keep the full take?"
    "This is sacred territory, bud. Who let you back here?"
    "I let myself," I said. "Halfcat sent me."
    His eyes were edgy as he stripped his globeard. "For what?"
    "For info. I'm an op, working out of Bubble City. My client had his asteroid stolen. I'm trying to find it for him."
    "So?"
    "So Halfcat said you might have bought it. If so, I'd like to buy it back, no questions asked."
    I handed him the specs.
    He shook his head, which was round and bald; he looked like an uncooked zingo egg. "Too dinky. I don't buy the dinky ones, I buy the fat ones. Kleptos steal the dinks. A pro won't touch 'em."
    "Kleptos?"
    "People who are compelled to