Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction October 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
LION
LOOSE
By JAMES H. SCHMITZ
The most dangerous of animals is not the biggest andfiercest—but the one that's hardest to stop. Addintelligence to that ... and you may come to a wrongconclusion as to what the worst menace is....
Illustrated by Schoenherr
or twelve years at a point where three major shipping routes of theFederation of the Hub crossed within a few hours' flight of oneanother, the Seventh Star Hotel had floated in space, a great goldensphere, gleaming softly in the void through its translucent shells ofbattle plastic. The Star had been designed to be much more than aconvenient transfer station for travelers and freight; for some yearsafter it was opened to the public, it retained a high rating amongthe more exotic pleasure resorts of the Hub. The Seventh Star Hotelwas the place to have been that season, and the celebrities and fatcats converged on it with their pals and hangers-on. The Star blazedwith life, excitement, interstellar scandals, tinkled with streams ofcredits dancing in from a thousand worlds. In short, it had startedout as a paying proposition.
But gradually things changed. The Star's entertainment remained asdelightfully outrageous as ever, the cuisine as excellent; theaccommodations and service were still above reproach. The fleecing, ingeneral, became no less expertly painless. But one had been there.By its eighth year, the Star was dated. Now, in its twelfth, it livedsoberly off the liner and freighter trade, four fifths of the guestsuites shut down, the remainder irregularly occupied between shipdepartures.
And in another seven hours, if the plans of certain men went through,the Seventh Star Hotel would abruptly wink out of existence.
Some fifty or sixty early diners were scattered about the tables onthe garden terraces of Phalagon House, the Seventh Star Hotel's mostexclusive eatery. One of them had just finished his meal, sat smokingand regarding a spiraling flow of exquisitely indicated female figuresacross the garden's skyscape with an air of friendly approval. He wasa large and muscular young man, deeply tanned, with shoulders ofimpressive thickness, an aquiline nose, and dark, reflective eyes.
After a minute or two, he yawned comfortably, put out the cigarette,and pushed his chair back from the table. As he came to his feet,there was a soft bell-note from the table ComWeb. He hesitated, said,"Go ahead."
"Is intrusion permitted?" the ComWeb inquired.
"Depends," the guest said. "Who's calling?"
"The name is Reetal Destone."
He grinned, appeared pleasantly surprised. "Put the lady through."
There was a brief silence. Then a woman's voice inquired softly,"Quillan?"
"Right here, doll! Where—"
"Seal the ComWeb, Quillan."
He reached down to the instrument, tapped the seal button, said, "Allright. We're p