Gestapo Mars Read Online Free

power made it out to the far frontiers.
    Having finished the drink, I sank deep into the easy chair and opened the digi-reader again. I needed to get all I could from the instrument, because sooner or later I’d have to ditch it.
    “Suggestions?” I asked the reader. I already had a game plan, but it never hurt to get a second opinion.
    “You’ll need to make contact with one of the rebel agents in order to secure your out-system passage,” it intoned. “You should also make contact with one of the local imperial agents to determine if there is any up-to-date intelligence which might have a bearing on your mission.”
    “Probably a good idea not to get those two meetings mixed up.”
    “Such an action would likely endanger the mission and cost you your life,” the reader agreed.
    “It was a joke, you electronic shit pile.”
    “I am not programmed for humor.”
    “Never mind,” I said. “I’d already decided on that exact plan anyway. Bring up the list of contacts again. I’ll pick out a couple of likely suspects.”
    * * *
    In twenty minutes I had my pigeons picked out, but I wouldn’t be able to contact either of them until morning. It was getting past dinnertime, so I went to the lobby, asked where I could get a meal without wandering too far. The hotel had a fancy bistro, but I could eat at the bar if I felt like keeping it casual.
    I went into the bar, climbed onto a stool. Only the best places and the lousiest places had human bartenders. It was more economical for the in-between joints to use a bar-bot. This place was high end, and the bartender followed his little bowtie over to my stool. I ordered synthetic potato soup and a processed meat sandwich. I ate it and ordered a scotch rocks, nursed that, wondering how I’d waste the evening when the answer presented itself at the next stool.
    “Hello,” she said.
    “Hello back at you.”
    “This seat taken?”
    “It’s all yours.”
    She smiled, put a cigarette in her mouth, and it self-lit on the first puff.
    “Buy me a drink.”
    “Sure.”
    The bartender seemed to know what she wanted without asking. I had an unlimited imperial expense account, so the whole place could swill champagne for all I cared. I supposed if I started buying luxury yachts somebody might come asking, but I wasn’t planning on it.
    The girl must have been pretty gung-ho to approach me in the priest getup. I didn’t mind gung-ho at all.
    She had a big pile of red hair flowing down past her shoulders. Blue eyes, skin so white it looked like she’d maybe never been above ground in her life. Not sickly white. Glowing and milky. You couldn’t help but wonder what her red nipples would look like in contrast to all that. She had matching green pastel eye makeup and lipstick. A flimsy dress that went with the color scheme of her makeup, plunging low in the back and showing a lot more skin.
    When she shifted on her stool, her impressive breasts moved around freely under the silky material. It was a dizzying effect, and I felt myself getting warm behind the ears.
    “What’s your name?” she asked.
    “Argus,” I lied. “You?”
    “I’m Cassandra,” she said. “Where are you from?”
    “Vatican home world.”
    “That’s
so
interesting.” She leaned forward as she said it, put a soft hand on my arm. “What’s it like?”
    “Same as anywhere.”
    “Wow, that’s great. What do you do for a living?”
    “I’m a Jesuit priest.”
    “That’s
so
interesting.”
    “Yeah, it’s interesting as hell.” I motioned for the bartender to bring two more drinks.
    “So what are you doing at this hotel?” I asked.
    “Oh, I come here a lot,” she said.
    “I’ll bet you do.”
    “What are you drinking?” she asked.
    “Scotch.”
    “That’s
so
interesting. Men who drink scotch are interesting.”
    “You seem easily impressed.”
    “I’m just
really
enjoying talking to you.” She’d somehow scooted closer without my noticing, her thigh touching mine.
    I eyed her