Hellflower

Somebody had nailed Moke Rahone to his Desk. . . .

Moke Rahone’d been human, and someone had butchered him open. It was dainty-like. Real bodysnatcher work, done with something sharp—something that didn’t burn like a pocket laser or chew up the meat like a vibro.

And there was one other thing. It was sticking up out of Rahone’s insides and it hadn’t been part of his original manifest. It might tell me who killed him, and who might be interested in taking over the cargo I had for him.

I pulled off my glove and yanked out the optional extra somebody’d left with Brother Rahone. What I got for my trouble was long and thin, pointed at one end and with feathers at the other. It was mostly red, but where it was dry it was a kind of blue animal bone with carving on it.

I’d seen bone like that before. Hellflower work!

I’d just shut the door on the inner room behind me when the outer door opened. The hellflower standing there wasn’t Tiggy, but he looked real pleased to see me anyway.

“Ea, higna,” the hellflower said. Then he went for his heat. . . .

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