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Chapter 4

The incredibly beautiful auburn-haired android smiled a dazzling smile and pulled up her Lycra tunic. “If you’ll just look here, Mr. Summer,” she requested.

Summer was just stowing his luggage in the wall bin of his compartment on the Westwood Deck of the immense Hollywood II spacecraft. One of the things he’d unpacked just before doing that was his palm-sized bugsniffer. “Be right with you.” He grinned in the direction of the stunning andy’s entirely believable breasts.

Built into her smooth, evenly tanned midsection was a rectangular vidscreen. “Let me ask you for your frank and candid opinion,” requested the gorgeous mechanism. “You’re a man known for his integrity and perception—or at least you used to be. We’re wondering if this method of indoctrinating new passengers aboard the Hollywood II strikes you as being gauche.”

Crouching, Summer swept the detecting gadget over the trim of his floating hydrobed. “Gauche isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Tell me which word you would use.”

“Cheesy.”

His compact bugsniffer made a small pinging noise. There was an eardisc stuck to the underside of the neowood bed frame.

“That’s ours,” explained the android, blushing slightly. “As I told you, Mr. Summer, I’m with Public Relations. We don’t always see eye to eye with Internal Security.”

Nodding, he ground the listening device under his boot heel. “You have a vidtape to show me?”

“Yes, it’s entitled So You’re Going to Travel Through the Limitless Infinity Of Space Aboard the Fabled Hollywood II!”

“Catchy.”

“You’re being sardonic.”

“Yep,” he admitted as he continued checking out his compartment.

“Installing the viewscreen here”—she gestured gracefully to just below her breasts—“was PR’s idea,” she said. “There was some debate about which location would be the most effective. You’d be surprised what a variety of portions of the female anatomy are considered provocative. Trying to arouse the interest of the variety of guests we get from sundry planets and—”

The bugsniffer binged.

“Another one.” Summer removed a wafer-thin mini-cam the size of a trubux coin from behind his wall mirror.

“Really? That isn’t one of ours.”

He held it between thumb and forefinger. “Looks like the brand the Barnum Drug Bureau uses.” Dropping it, he stomped on it with his heel.

“Oh, them.” She shook her blond head forlornly. “I thought those awful rumors had been laid to rest.”

“Rumors about what?”

“You know, drug smuggling and all. Honestly, the public notion that anyone remotely connected with show business is a dope fiend or—”

“Maybe you better show me your movie.”

“I get so mad when the media makes wild…Well, that’s not why I’m here.” She pressed her left nipple. The implanted screen blossomed to life. “If this really embarrasses you, I could send one of my colleagues. She’s got the screen in her backside, since research indicates that 276 of humanoid males prefer—”

“This’ll be fine.” He eased the bathroom door open and began searching the off-white room for spy gadgets.

“…Hollywood II is virtually a city in itself,” a deep-voiced narrator was saying through the speaker in the lovely android’s navel. “It houses thousands of well-adjusted people who are dedicated to traveling the length and breadth of this old universe of ours and making the best vidmovies for you and your family that’s humanly, and otherwisely, possible to…”

“Bing,” said the bugsniffer when Summer passed it over the sunken whirlbath unit.

He knelt, squinting. The latest bug was more complex than the others. “Huh…made out in the Hellquad planets looks like. Don’t see that many hereabouts.” He tossed it in the air a few times before dumping it down the floor dispozhole.

“…a dozen vast sound stages with state-of-the-art movie-making equipment. And here we see the palatial Executive Level with its stately offices, acre upon acre of rolling sudograss, leafy…”

“Are you getting all this?” called the attractive andy.

“As much as I want, yes.” He finished up the bath, moved on to the kitchen cubicle.

“…the Writers’ Hold, which is usually off limits to our average passenger…”

Summer found two real cockroaches in his zapstove, but no more spying gadgets in the kitchen or in the rest of his cabin.

“…six regulation tennis courts, a freefall wrestling arena…”

Placing his bugsniffer on the edge of the floating glaz coffee table, Summer seated himself in a plaz slingchair. “An old associate of mine named Palma would enjoy your presentation,” he told the android.

“Palma? Oh, yes, the horny photographer.”

“Heard of him?”

“We have very extensive records on just about every media person in the universe.”

“…a most cordial and heartfelt welcome aboard!”

concluded the handsome-voiced narrator.

The auburn android’s stomach went blank. “Thank you for your attention, Mr. Summer.” She pulled down her tunic.

“Usually PR people call me Jack,” he said. “I’m wondering why you—”

“Oh, that’s in deference to your age. Anyone over thirty-five gets a Mister.” Smiling prettily, she backed toward the doorway. “That applies to humanoids such as yourself. With other groups, of course, the cutoff age varies. Lizardmen, for example, live to be much—”

“Thanks for the indoctrination.”

“Don’t forget you’re scheduled to sit in on a Galaxy Jane story conference at 3:15 PM/Ship Time,” she reminded. “And I’ll see you at the welcoming cocktail party. That’s up on the Beverly Hills Deck at 5 PM/ST.”

“Looking forward to both events.”

“Well, I have three more passengers to welcome before we take off.” She smiled again and let herself out. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Summer.”

“Thirty-nine isn’t especially old,” he said aloud after she’d gone.