Chapter VI

Farradyne sat before his control panel with his head in his hands. There had to be some way out of this. The alternative was to go on hauling Norma back and forth, being the target of her needling and her vicious desire and getting nothing done because of it. The mess had started off badly enough, but now it had deteriorated.

Norma's needling and goading had been hard enough to bear. He was willing to bet his spare money that the boxes she was now receiving contained whatever could be purchased of the most seductive clothing she could find. And included in her basic idea was, most likely, a sharp appreciation of what Farradyne would consider exciting. Acres of exposed skin or rank nudity would pall on him. So she would come out with little items that might cover her from toe to chin in such a way as to make him wonder about what was underneath; probably simple stuff with a lot of fine fit and a lot of semi-transparent quality that compelled the eye. If she coupled this program with a soft voice, as she was most likely to do now that she had shucked the sleazy costume, Norma Hannon would be almost irresistible. Before this happened, Farradyne had to park her somewhere that would be binding.

Had she parents? Friends?

He hit the control panel with his fist. He hated to think of it, but if push came to shove he might be able to drop her in one of the sanatoriums that had been set up for love-lotus addicts. They did little good for the victims but did keep the addicts out of other people's hair.

It seemed that it should be parents, first.

Farradyne's forefinger hit the radio button viciously.

"Tower? Connect me to the city telephone."

"Aye-firm, Lancaster. Wait five."

A few seconds later Farradyne was asking for the Bennington Detective Agency, an outfit that was system wide. He got a receptionist first and then a quiet-voiced man named Lawson.

Farradyne came to the point. "I want any information you can collect about the family of a man named Frank Hannon who was killed in the wreck of the Semiramide in The Bog, on Venus four years ago."

"You're same Charles Farradyne?"

"Maybe--but is it important?"

"It might be, but it will be held confidential. I'm asking because I prefer to know the motives of clients. I'd like reassurance that our investigation will be made for a legal reason."

"I'll put it this way: I know Frank Hannon was killed in the wreck. I have reason to believe that he had a sister that disappeared shortly afterwards. If this is true, I want to know it--but I haven't time to find out through the usual channels. Fact of the matter is that I want no more information than I could get myself if I had time to go pawing through issues of newspapers of four years ago. No more."

"I will look through our list of missing persons and see if such is the case, Mr. Farradyne. I suggest that you either call back in a couple of hours, or better, that you call in person here at my office. There will be no charge for the initial search, but if this evolves into something concrete--well, we can discuss the matter when you call. Is that all right?"

"It's okay and I'll be in your office at four o'clock."

* * * * *

Farradyne hung up and considered. If Norma Hannon had a couple of grieving parents, he could hand her over to them and that would be the end of that. He lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment, then got up from the control console and started for the spacelock.

He met Norma in the salon. She had changed into a heavy satin housecoat that molded her arms to the wrists, clung to her waist and breasts and throat, and outlined her hips and thighs. Painted toenails were provocatively visible below the hem as she sat there with her legs crossed, tossing her foot up and down.

"Thought we were about to take off again," she asked. Her voice was soft and personal and friendly. She was plying the affectionate line as smoothly as an experienced woman could.

Farradyne shook his head. Having a plan of action made him feel better. "Got a call from the tower," he said. "More business. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Norma held up her hand for his cigarette and he gave it to her. She puffed deeply and offered it back. Farradyne refused it. The memory of her needling and her desire for violence had not had time to fade. Another twenty hours of this calmness and he would begin to look upon the sharing of a cigarette as a pleasant gesture of companionship.

Norma shrugged at his wave of the hand in refusal. "I'll be here when you get back," she said comfortably, wriggling down against the cushions and giving him the benefit of an inviting smile.

Farradyne left the salon swearing under his breath. If this parking of her did not work, Farradyne was licked.

* * * * *

He walked. He did not like walking, but he preferred walking to remaining in the Lancaster with Norma for the next couple of hours. He tried to think, but he could not come to any conclusion because he had all his hope tied on the Bennington outfit and what they might turn up.

He was shown into the office of Peter Lawson, who was a bright-eyed elderly man with a body surprisingly lithe for his years.

"Now, before we go any further," said Lawson pleasantly, "I'd like to hear your reasons for becoming interested in this case."

Farradyne nodded. "As I told you, Frank Hannon was killed in an accident on a spacecraft I owned. That was four years ago. Recently I met Norma Hannon in a gin-mill on Ganymede and she fastened onto me like a leech as a person to hate. You know the results of love-lotus addiction?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, it occurred to me that one way of getting rid of Miss Hannon would be to turn her over to some relative or friend who would be deeply interested in her welfare. Does this add up?"

"Quite logical. Miss Hannon is where you can find her?"

Farradyne nodded with a sour look on his face. "She's sitting in my salon waiting for me to come back."

"Why not just turn her over to the police?" asked Lawson with a careful look at Farradyne.

"Look," said Farradyne testily, "I don't enjoy Miss Hannon's company, but I can't see jailing her. She isn't truly vicious, she's just another unfortunate victim of the love-lotus trap. Maybe I feel a bit concerned over her brother. Anyway, take it from here."

"Very well. I shall. The facts are these:

"Frank Hannon was a lawyer with a limited but apparently lucrative practise. Norma acted as a sort of junior partner. The case-history says that Frank Hannon had been on his way to Venus to place some case before one of the higher courts, the nature of which was not a matter for public discussion. I don't know what it was myself.

"Then Frank was killed, and Norma dropped her study of law. Her brother's death seemed to be quite a blow to her. Before, she had dated at random, with nothing serious in mind. But afterwards she seemed to develop a strong determination to marry, perhaps as a substitute for the gap left by the death of her brother. A man named Antony Walton became Number One boy friend after a few months and they were together constantly and seemed devoted. She disappeared after a dinner-date with Walton, and Walton is now serving a term on Titan Colony for possession of love-lotus blossoms."

Farradyne shook his head. "The louse," he said feelingly.

"Everybody agrees."

"I don't know as much as I might about lotus addiction," said Farradyne. "It all seems so sudden to me. One moment we have a well-bred young woman with ideals and ambition and feelings and the next moment--"

"It is a rather quick thing," said Lawson. "The love lotus is vicious and swift. I've studied early cases. They all seem to have the same pattern. And oddly enough, love lotus is not an addictive drug in every case. It is not only an aphrodisiac; it also heightens the physical senses so that a good drink tastes better and a good play becomes superb. The touch of a man's hand becomes a magnificent thrill. And here is the point where addiction begins, Mr. Farradyne. If the woman's senses and emotions are treated only to the mild appreciations of food and drink and music and a gentle caress, her addiction may take years and years to arrive at the point where she cannot feel these stimuli without a sniff of hellflower. But if she should be so unlucky as to have her emotions raised to a real passion during the period of dosage, it is like overloading the engine. You burn her out."

* * * * *

Farradyne nodded. "I see. And there is no cure?"

"Some doctors believe that a long period of peace and quiet under conditions where only the mildest of stimuli are available may bring the addict back. I am of the opinion that such a place does not exist. They fasten onto hate as an emotion that cuts through their burned-out emotions and if you should place them among completely bland surroundings they would find it possible to hate those that incarcerated them. It becomes almost paranoiac; anything you do is wrong."

"So I've discovered. But what do I do with Miss Hannon?"

"At the time of Miss Hannon's disappearance, her family offered a reward of five thousand dollars for her return."

"I'd be happy to deliver her FOB her own front porch," said Farradyne. "Can I hand her over to you and let you take it from there?"

"She would put up quite a ruckus," said Lawson. "I doubt that she will go home willingly. It is my opinion that Miss Hannon's response to Walton's lovemaking was extremely high, so that the result was a quick blunting of her normal capability for feelings. After this, anger and shame would cause her--a proud woman of education and breeding--to hide where she could not be known, where she could possibly get the hellflower she needed for her next desire to enjoy the lift of emotions. This would not be in the home of her parents. So she would not go home willingly--and the alternative is an appeal to the authorities." Lawson smiled. "I heard your offer to deliver her free to her home."

"But--"

"You've depended upon us and you will be helped. We will have an operative collect Miss Hannon at the Denver Spaceport. All you have to do is live with this trouble for about fifty hours more. We have done quite a bit of work on this case already, and we are willing to do more. For delivering your information and for taking Miss Hannon to Denver, we will be happy to divide the reward."

"I'll deliver Miss Hannon to Denver," said Farradyne, thinking that for twenty-five hundred he could stick cotton in his ears and sweat it out at about fifty dollars an hour.

"Good, Mr. Farradyne. I'll make arrangements to have our Mr. Kingman meet you at Denver."

Lawson handed Farradyne a few pages of dossier on the case and then showed him out of the office. Farradyne took a deep breath and decided that what he wanted was a drink to his good fortune. He could look forward to getting rid of Norma Hannon. He made the street, glanced around, and headed for a small bar, to relax and think.