When I contacted Swendlehurst on his listed link, I told him I'd discovered a Naj-Naj who could sing like Bing Crosby, and if he paid me a small finder's fee, I'd tell him the name. He told me he was currently having lunch at Harlo's, a restaurant on the top floor of the tallest building in Big City, and that he'd be happy to talk.
He was sitting by one of the windows, the emerald forest stretched out to the horizon behind him. The place was crowded, mostly with humans and the wolfish-looking Dulnari, but the wait staff was all the spindly, stupidly grinning Naj-Naj.
I recognized Ned Swendlehurst from the headshot—a pasty, round-faced man with a mop of blond curls so perfectly dome-shaped that it had to be a wig. But I wasn't prepared for how massively fat he was—a flat-topped mountain of flesh in a glittery suit and a dimpled red tie, his rolls of flesh like lava flows down the triangular slope of his body.
Clinging to each jiggly arm was a burly woman in an obscenely tight purple dress, and when I got close, I realized they were twins. Each of them sported a wart on the bottom of their nose. They stared at him longingly while he ignored them, fiercely tearing into his barbecue rib.
I stopped at the table. The women gazed at me the way cows gaze at passing hoverpods. Swendlehurst went on eating.
"So?” he said.
Red sauce speckled his double chin. I was hungry when I walked in the door. I wasn't anymore.
"I lied,” I said. “I'm here about Karvo Portano."
The pause was almost imperceptible, a slight hesitation before he took his next bite, but I caught it. “Mmm,” he said.
"Someone stole his singing voice,” I said.
He wiped the mess off his chin, finally belching loudly. “Tell me something I don't know,” he said.
"Do you know who did it?"
"If I did, do you think he would have come to you?” He finally looked up at me, narrowing his beady little eyes. I disagreed with Hiptor: they weren't shifty so much as lifeless. It was like looking at a doll's eyes. “I know all about Karvo's situation. It's quite sad. Who are you, anyway? Some kind of detective?"
"Name's Duff,” I said. “I help people find things."
"Of course you do. How quaint.” He bent his meaty mouth down toward the ear of the woman on his right. “Look, my dear, a modern day Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps he can find your missing g-spot. Then you'd know what an orgasm is first hand."
The woman blushed and looked down shyly.
"Hiptor Mortagai thought you might have something to do with it,” I said.
He chuckled. “Of course he would."
"Well, did you?"
"Ha! You are a direct one, aren't you, Detective Duff?” He wiped his hands clean on one of the white napkins on the table. The way he did it, and the red stains left behind, made me think of someone wiping their hands after killing someone with a knife. “I know good old Hiptor has more eyes than he does brains, but I'm sure you can do better. Why would I take his voice? Do you have any idea how big he was going to be?"
"Not a clue."
His tiny eyes flared wider. “He was going to be absolutely huge! The market on Ipsin Totar alone, which devours opera like it's some kind of drug, would have made us both rich. I had him booked six months out within a few days and a deal lined up with a major unicaster. Why would I take his voice and walk away from that?"
I shrugged. “Maybe to sell his voice to someone else."
"Nonsense! Detective Duff, making money—"
"Just Duff,” I said.
"—off someone's singing is not just about the voice. It's the whole package! It's the brand that is the person! And Karvo Portano had already built his brand in the circus. The bear who sang opera! Why would I mess with that? It would have been foolish in the extreme. I did not make it to where I am in life by being foolish."
"I can see that,” I said.
"And this is beside the point,” Swendlehurst said, “but I considered Karvo a close friend. I love the opera! My wife loves the opera even more than me! It would be unthinkable for me to do something to harm one of the greatest tenors our galaxy has ever known!"
"Wife?” I said.
"Yes! She adores his singing! Absolutely adores it! He sang for us both on our ship many times! Ask Karvo."
I didn't want to tell him it was the wife part, not the wife-liking-opera part that I found hard to swallow. “So you don't have any ideas on who might have taken his voice?"
He shook his head, and the rolls on his neck swayed like heavy drapes. “None! If I did, I would have gone to the farthest reaches of the galaxy to get it back! That crime was not just a crime against Karvo—it was a crime against opera lovers everywhere!"
The rest of the conversation didn't reveal anything else that could help me. Either Mortagai or Swendlehurst could have been lying, and probably were, but it didn't change one thing: I didn't see what they had to gain stealing Karvo's voice. Even if they had sold it to someone else, how could that person even use the voice down the road without getting caught? A hyro—which was the laymen's term for biological robot hybrids—was an amazingly sophisticated bit of machinery, more complex even than the human body. It would have taken a team of scientists to hide Karvo's unique binary signature, and of course that would have cost more than stealing the voice could have possibly been worth.
I retired to the windowless lounge on the other side, squeezing in at the black marble bar between a couple of Dulnari. They glared at me, their blue eyes glowing luminescent in the hazy, dim room. They had a musky odor that bothered lots of folks, but after the ten months I spent on the sulfur-stinking Mabokin, no odor really bothered me anymore. Plus if you were going to sit near two Dulnari, it was better to sit between them, because then they couldn't do their telepathy thing.
After I warmed my stomach with three shots of brandy I slouched into the corner com-com unit and punched in Karvo's number. His brown face blinked up on the screen. Instead of a tuxedo, he wore a white terrycloth robe.
"Have you found it?” he said eagerly.
"No dice."
He looked crestfallen. “A pity."
"Look,” I said, “tell me something. How much money you think you would have made the first year solo?"
"It's hard to say."
"Take a guess."
He thought about it a moment, then quoted me a number. It was ten times the number I expected. So Swendlehurst was probably right. It would have been stupid to walk away from that.
"You look frustrated, Duff,” Karvo said.
"Well, that's because I am."
"I wish I could offer you some kind of lead. It's just ... my memory..."
"I know,” I said. “Look, would you call Swendlehurst a friend?"
He nodded. “Both he and his wife were really supportive. Ned seemed heartbroken when I told him, and Alexia ... Well, she cried like I'd died. You don't suspect them, do you?"
Swendlehurst's wife. She'd come up twice now in the span of a few minutes. I didn't know if there was anything there, but talking to her would be better than staring at my reflection in the bottom of a glass of brandy.
"Your agent said they live on a ship,” I said. “You have any idea where that would be?"
* * * *
It turned out that the ship was right there, orbiting Naj-Naj. Karvo told me she traveled with Swendlehurst all over the galaxy because they both preferred nex-space travel to the stepdocks. He also told me they had a very loving relationship and they hated to be parted from one another for long. I thought about the two women sitting next to Swendlehurst in the bar and wondered if she knew how much loving he was really doing.
I didn't want to give her a chance to ignore me, so I rented a sub-nex shuttle—shopping around until I found one cheap enough that I could afford it—and piloted the creaky heap toward Naj-Naj's smaller moon, which had a popular casino. Swendlehurst's ship was a deluxe cruiser that couldn't have been more than two years old, big enough to hold a few hundred people, and long and sleek and handsome in all
the ways that Swendlehurst himself wasn't.
When I was passing near it, I sent a distress signal. Any ship licensed in the Unity Worlds was obligated by law to respond to a distress signal, if able. Sure enough, a young man, dark-haired and square-jawed, as handsome as any model, appeared on my monitor. It was a shot from the neck up, making his face fill the screen, which was a little unusual.
"Problem, sir?” he said.
"Navigational system's screwy,” I said. “Can I dock while I make repairs?"
He gave the go ahead and ten minutes later I was popping open the connector hatch and stepping onto their ship. The air was slightly on the warm side. The young man who talked to me was there to greet me, and right away I saw why he had only shown me himself from the neck up on the com-com.
He was naked.
"Forget something?” I said.
"Sir?"
I motioned toward his body. It wasn't just a body. It was a perfect body, well sculpted and well endowed, his skin a smooth, creamy tan, not a mole or a scar on him, every muscle and contour a work of art. He looked down at himself, not at all embarrassed or ashamed, and then nodded.
"Standard ship policy, sir. You're welcome to remove your clothing as well, though it's not required of guests."
"That's all right. You're not human are you?"
"No, sir. I'm an android."
"Ah."
It figured. Unless specifically programmed to have a sense of modesty, androids had none. Unlike hyros, they weren't sentient—just fancy computers that did as programmed—and could never be considered more than property. Still, standing next to his Adonis-like body, and knowing it was all a miracle of modern manufacturing, didn't make me feel any better.
"Is Mrs. Swendlehurst available?” I asked.
He hesitated. “I'm sure I can help you with your repairs, sir. What do you need?"
"I can handle it. Can you just relay a message to Mrs. Swendlehurst? Tell her I'm a friend of Karvo Portano."
"As you wish, sir."
He strutted away, his gluteus maximus as disgustingly perfect as the rest of him. The message had the desired effect. Five minutes later, while I was pretending to poke around under the dashboard, he returned, requesting that I follow him. We walked through a ship that was as elegant as any vacation cruiser, passing dozens of other androids, all identical, all naked, until a pair of double doors slid open and we walked into a cloud of steam.
Adonis led me over a green marble floor toward the sound of bubbling water, and eventually I saw the shape of person sitting in a hot tub. The shape turned into a woman with bright blond hair tied up in a bun—a stunningly beautiful woman, tanned and toned, green eyes glittering like emeralds, naked slender arms resting on the granite lip of the hot tub. The frothy water reached the top of her breasts, high enough to hide most of her body while low enough to make it clear she was naked.
"Leave us, Six,” she said.
Adonis bowed and walked away.
"You're Alexia Swendlehurst?” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “Surprised?'
Already sweating, I unzipped my jacket. The air felt warm and heavy with each breath. “More than a little,” I said.
"You're wondering why a goddess like me would be with a slovenly creature like my husband, is that it? Well, our relationship is complicated, but it works for us. Now, do you have it with you?"
"Excuse me?"
She sighed. “I'm sure you enjoy staring at my breasts, but I'd rather not prolong this experience more than necessary. As I indicated in my message, I'll pay you one million prime for it. But that's firm."
One thing you learn in my business is that you take advantage of whatever opportunities are thrown your way. After a moment's confusion, I realized that she thought I had Karvo's voicebox and I was trying to sell it to her. It was also obvious that she had some kind of relationship with the person she expected to retrieve the voicebox—but not a good enough one that she knew him by appearance.
"That's a lot of money,” I said. I didn't want to lie, but I was happy to let her go on believing in something that wasn't true.
"But not enough?"
"I didn't say that."
She shook her head. “Enough games. Name your price."
"But perhaps it's the game I want to talk about,” I said. “Like, what are you going to do with the bear's voice once you get it? I know you like opera. You going to keep it all for yourself, is that it? You want to have your own private talent you don't have to share?"
It was a stab in the dark, and it definitely struck a nerve. Her face hardened, her lips forming a thin line, her eyes moistening. She didn't cry, but she was obviously struggling to hold back the tears.
Then, suddenly, she rose from the water, not making any attempt to hide herself. The rest of her body was just as tan and trim and naked as the rest of her, the water running down the perfect swells of her breasts and over her flat stomach and between her legs. She was as tall and lithe as a professional free-fall player.
"Come with me,” she said curtly.
She stepped out of the tub and glided away from me, disappearing into the steam. The sight of her glorious body caused a momentary hiccup in my brain before I snapped out of it and followed her. Still, I was definitely in some kind of stupor, because when I walked through the open archway in the back of the room, one that led around a corner to an exercise room, I was in no way expecting the hard blow to the head that was immediately delivered to me.
I was on the ground before I realized what was happening, tasting the rubber on the lightly padded blue floor. My cochlear implant started whining—a maddening, high-pitched sound. My vision went dark for a moment, returning just in time to see something large and red moving swiftly in my direction.
My reflexes took over, my forearm coming up and taking the brunt of the impact, sending a jolt of pain up my side. I rolled with the blow, away from her, and ended up back on my feet—crouched, a bit wobbly, but with both hands up in a fighting posture.
"How dare you impugn my motives!” Alexia cried.
I blinked away the sweat in my eyes and finally she came into focus. Somehow, in the few seconds she'd been out of my sight, she'd taken the opportunity to don red boxing gloves and red boxing boots. Of course, she hadn't put on anything else, so seeing her bouncing up and down like a fighter in the ring, all those shapely, glistening curves bouncing right along with her, I felt a strange mixture of emotions: rage at being attacked and the most powerful animal attraction I'd felt in my whole life. Damn, now here was a strong woman.
"Mrs. Swendlehurst—” I began.
"His voice is a treasure!” she said, and now she was crying. “A treasure! Have you ever heard him sing The Bolandassi's Lament? A marvel! The only thing I wanted was to make sure the voice got back to him! That's why I put out the word I'd be willing to pay a good price for it! How dare you lump me in with thugs like you? Karvo's had a hard enough time as it is, getting over his stage fright, and I would never, never, do anything to make his life harder!"
I didn't want to hurt her. It would have been a crime against nature. “Listen,” I said, “I'm not what—"
With a shriek, she jumped toward me and side-kicked hard at my head. I ducked to the left, but not quite fast enough because she delivered a glancing blow that tore at my good ear. It felt as if someone had stabbed me with a branding iron.
More kicks followed right after that one, each one harder and more lethal than the last, and I blocked them away with my arms. My restraint quickly faded. She was good, damn good, and if not for the crazy rage that had overwhelmed her, she might very well have gotten the best of me.
But blinded by her anger, she left herself too exposed. I timed her next kick, ducking away and then grabbing her by the calf and heaving her leg upward.
She went down on her back, landing on the rubber with enough force that it knocked the wind out of her with an audible thwump. I thought that would be the end of it, and I took my time re
gaining my own breath, my heart starting to slow down, but then she let loose with another ear-splitting shriek and suddenly she was biting my ankle.
With a howl of my own, I kicked her hard on the side of the head—no restraint this time, not even a little—and as she was stunned, fell on top of her. By the time she recovered, I'd clamped down on both of her arms and had her pinned beneath the weight of my body.
"Let—me—go!” she cried. She squirmed beneath me, her wet body like an oily snake, and it was all I could do to keep her from slipping away. Her face was pink with exertion. “Six! Three! Come in here! I'm being attacked!"
"Mrs. Swendlehurst, if you'll just—"
"Nine! Four! Help, help!"
"Alexia! I'm not here to sell Karvo's voice! He hired me!"
She had her mouth open to scream, but instead, I watched her eyes refocus on me. She blinked a few times.
"He did?” she said in a quiet voice.
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"To find his voice! I'm a private investigator!"
A long pause. “Oh,” she said.
I felt all the tension slipping out of her muscles, her body going slack. I was suddenly very conscious of this wonderful naked creature beneath me—even through my clothes, the hardness of her in some places, the softness of her in others.
"Have you found out anything?” she said.
"No."
"But you're going to keep trying?"
I sighed. “Yeah. I'm out of ideas, but I'm going to keep trying."
I kept waiting for her to ask me to get off her, but instead, she just looked at me. Her gaze, so full of contempt just a moment ago, changed. It was still intense, but now it ... smoldered. Her lips parted every so lightly, and I felt the heat of her breath on my chin.
"Perhaps,” she said, her voice a lustful purr, “I could help pay for your services."
Analog SFF, July-August 2009 Page 12