Chapter X

Carmody marched out of the hotel and turned left in the direction of the airstation which stayed open all night. He had walked a short distance when suddenly a high voice came out of the darkness behind him, “Not so fast, Mr ... Carmody,” and a hard knob was pressed in his back.

“Mr. Keats, I believe,” Carmody said, wondering why he wasn’t frightened.

“Right.” The other coughed at some length. “You thought you were pretty smart, didn’t you, foisting me off with a hulk that wasn’t only shopworn but hot?”

“Your intentions weren’t exactly noble either, were they, Mr. Keats?”

“I want my frame back!”

Suddenly the idea came to Carmody, and so wonderful it was he could hardly throttle his voice down to calmness. “Shooting me won’t help you get it back. In fact, it might make it rather difficult.”

“You have your choice between going back to the zarquil house with me and switching or getting your current insides burned out.”

Carmody exhaled a small hissing sigh that he hoped would not be recognized as obvious relief to the man behind him. “You’ll have to pay. I haven’t enough folio on me.”

“I’ll pay; I’ll pay,” the voice snarled. “I always pay. But you’ll come peacefully?” he asked in some surprise.

“Yes. Matter of fact, I’ll be glad to get out of this body. No matter how much I try, somehow I can never manage to keep it clean ... Gently, now, you don’t want to muss up a body you’re planning to occupy yourself, now do you?”

“This is too easy,” Keats’ voice murmured dubiously. “Maybe it’s another trap...”

“You’re always going to imagine traps, Mr. Exterminator, whether they’re there or not. You and Lockard both--people who run must have something to run from, and half the time it’s not there and half the time, of course, it is; only you never know which is which--”

“You talk too much,” the man behind him snarled. “Shut up and keep moving.”

“Back again?” the Vinzz at the door asked. The present Carmody was a little startled. Somehow he had thought of the Vinzz as too remote from humanity to be able to distinguish between individual members of the species. “I’m afraid neither of you is qualified to play.”

“No reason why we shouldn’t have a private game, is there?” John Keats demanded belligerently.

The Vinzz’ tendrils quivered. “In that case, no, no reason at all. If you want to be so unsporting and can afford it. It will cost you a hundred thousand credits each.”

“But that’s twice what I had to pay last week!” Keats protested angrily.

The Vinzz shrugged an antenna. “You are, of course, at liberty to take your trade elsewhere, if you choose.”

“Oh, hell,” the temporarily poetic-looking killer snarled. “We’re stuck and you know it. Let’s get it over with!”

It was odd to come out of unconsciousness back into the thin young man’s body again. More uncomfortable than usual, because the criminal’s body had been in such splendid physical condition and this one so poor--now worse than before, because it had been worked far beyond its attenuated capabilities. The individuality that had originally been Gabriel Lockard’s, formerly housed in Jed Carmody’s body, now opened John Keats’ eyes and looked at the Vinzz who stood above him.

“The other human has been told you awakened before him and have already departed,” the Vinzz explained. “He has violence in his heart and we do not care for violence on our doorstep. Bad for business.”

“Has he gone already?”

The Vinzz nodded.

“How long has he been gone?” He scrambled to his feet and investigated the clothing he wore. Carmody had been in too much of a hurry to clean himself out. There was some money left, a container of milgot sticks, and a set of electroseals.

“He has just left.” The extra-terrestrial’s eyes flickered in what might have been surprise. “Don’t you wish to avoid him?”

“No, I must go where he goes.”

The Vinzz shrugged. “Well, it’s your funeral in the most literal sense of the word.” He sighed as the young man plunged out into the darkness. “But, from the objective viewpoint, what a waste of money!”

The massive, broad-shouldered figure of Jed Carmody was still visible at the end of the street, so the thin man slowed down. He wanted to follow Carmody, to keep close watch on where he was going and, if necessary, guide him in the right direction, though he didn’t think he’d have to do that. But he had no intention of overtaking him. Carmody might not want openly to use the gun the former tenant had so carefully left him, but with his physique he could break the fragile body of John Keats in two, if he so desired, and he probably did.