S.T.A.R. FLIGHT by E.C. Tubb Read Free Book Online

the door. It had a harsh sound, deliberately so, and served as a conversation piece to break the ice. Now, as he moved forward, smiling, ready to make a mild jest, he felt his pulse quicken. It wasn’t every day he served the Kaltich. In fact this would be the first time. If he played it right he could be on a bonanza.
    “Sire, lady.” He bowed, wondering how to address the two other, younger aliens. Desperate to create a good impression, he took a chance. “Your graces. My shop is honoured by your presence.”
    “He’s funny!” The young girl, pretty in her jacket and skirt of brilliant blue, looked at an older version of herself.
    “It is impolite to laugh at inferior races,” said her mother sharply. “You were warned about that.”
    “No offence, my lady,” said Denbow quickly. If they should leave now … He closed the door firmly behind them, locking it against intrusion. They wore blue and so were only deltas but they were Kaltich and had money. “Please make yourselves at home,” he invited. “Would you care for refreshments? Coffee? Tea? Alcohol, perhaps?” For a moment he feared that he had gone too far, been too presumptuous. Then the man grunted.
    “We want something special,” he said. “Something unique to this world. As a memento,” he explained. “What can you show us?”
    “Many things.” Denbow took a deep breath to regain his composure. He might never get a chance like this again. He must not spoil it. “Something personal? Ornamental? Useful? Rings,” he suggested. “I have here several from the Borgia collection. They were noted poisoners,” he added. “Their rings were constructed to contain lethal powders.” He picked one up, demonstrated, held it so as to catch the light. “Rare,” he said. “And valuable.”
    “We saw better than that on 2204,” said the boy.
    “And 5207,” added the girl.
    Denbow saw the lack of interest in the eyes of the adults. Hastily he put down the ring and snatched up the Chinese embroidery.
    “729,” said the boy.
    “That’s right,” said his sister. “Their work makes that thing look like a dirty rag.”
    He dropped the embroidery and snatched up a small bust.
    “This is seven thousand years old,” he lied. “A bust of Helen of Troy. The history behind it is unique. It was made from a solid block of alabaster by one of her admirers. He used no tools, having vowed to the gods that he would not sully the stone with dead instruments. Instead he used his fingernails and, probably, his teeth.’
    “Why?” The woman was casual.
    “Why did he do it, my lady? For love. He thought that hisefforts would soften her heart. They didn’t,” he added. “His labour was in vain.”
    “How do you know?” said the boy.
    “We have our methods,” said Denbow quickly. He hastened to firmer ground. “Something unique,” he mused, desperately racking his brains. What? What could he show them that they hadn’t seen on some other world? Desperate, he took a gamble. After all, they
looked
human. “I believe I have the very thing,” he said, and hesitated. “A word in your ear, sire?”
    “What is it?” Denbow whispered. The man laughed. “Why not? Bring it out.”
    Fifty minutes later after tea, scotch and biscuits for the children the Kaltich left leaving Denbow a richer and much happier man.
    By God, he thought, who would have believed it? A chastity belt of all things. It just goes to show, he told himself. A good salesman can sell anything. But it showed more than that. Who the hell, he thought pleasantly, would have guessed they were so human?
    Dipping his brush in the yellow paint, Milt Concord drew a thin line on the curve of the helmet then stepped back to admire his work. That’s it, he thought. That does it. Before him the crash helmet, bulky with its attached visor, gay with plumes, shone with new paint. Black and yellow with the big red cross in a circle of white right at the front. Milt belonged to the Medical Messengers and